


Scattered Ashes

by Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r



Series: The Mortal Part of Us [2]
Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Robert Lightwood's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 07:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 78,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15636531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r/pseuds/Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r
Summary: Jessa has a lot to do. Between supervising the crazy things that her family and friends are doing she still has to deal with being a human in the Shadow World, confront her long-lost brother's (well, technically cousin's) father about what he did to her, deal with her new wings and her new parabatai. Jak seems to be having trouble, and why the hell is the room always too hot when he's in it? The fact that Valentine is threatening to turn the Mortal Sword isn't that helpful, either.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Quotev, but I decided to post it here as well. The writing is a little cringy to read (for me, at least) so I think I'm probably going to go back and rewrite parts. Thanks for reading! :)

        “Are you still mad?” my ever-persistent brother asks his—our _parabatai_. Alec just glares at Jace from the other side of the elevator.

        “I'm not mad,” the raven-haired teen protests.

        “Oh, yes you are,” Jace replies, gesturing accusingly at the Lightwood boy, yelping when he moves it too fast. I smirk. **Life lesson of the day, kids: don't fall through three floors of rotten wood and onto a pile of scrap metal with your winged sister.**  A pause. **Well, I guess I did trip and knock him over, but getting used to wings is a little hard.**  I frown as soon as I think that, though, looking around the elevator in concern. My raven-haired _parabatai_ doesn't look much better than Jace. His clothes are caked in mud as well as being ripped in several places, hair hanging down in lank, sweaty strips that fall into his eyes and a long cut down the length of his face. Isabelle, however, is completely spotless and inspecting herself in the glass side of the elevator. 

        I roll my eyes in annoyance as I look down at myself. My boots are covered in mud, in the same state as my jacket, jeans and shirt. There's a few singed patches on my arms that rub against the fabric of my jacket that covers my black wings, rips and tears everywhere on my previously whole jeans as well as a long cut that starts at my right shoulder, ending halfway down the back of my hand and my left arm has recently been both dislocated and relocated. There's probably going to be a lot of blood on the inside of the opposite sleeve too.

       My wings are giving me an unbalanced feeling, which is unusual. It might be the grand total of five hours of sleep and eighteen cups of coffee I’ve been running on for the past week, or it might just be karma being an ass. 

        “I am not,” Alec hisses at Jace through gritted teeth. “Just because you said dragon demons were extinct—”

        “Mostly,” I cut in belligerently. “Mostly extinct.” Alec jabs a finger at Jace.

        “Mostly extinct is NOT EXTINCT ENOUGH!” he yells angrily.

        “I see,” Jace replies flippantly. “I'll just have them change the entry in the demonology textbook from ‘almost extinct’ to ‘not extinct enough for Alec. He prefers his monsters really, really extinct.’ Will that make you happy?” I groan, running my right hand through my chocolate brown hair that's currently hanging down my back in a curtain. Well, technically it's orange but at the moment it's glamoured.

        “Boys, boys,” Isabelle cuts on. “Don't fight.” The dark-haired beauty turns away from the glass with a sunny smile. “All right, so it was a little more action than we were expecting, but I thought it was fun.” I raise an eyebrow.

        “You need a dictionary. How the hell are you spotless?” Izzy shrugs.

        “I'm pure at heart. It repels the dirt.” I giggle, but then shift my weight to my left leg, the wound from Abaddon still acting up after a week of constant magic from Magnus. Jace snorts rather loudly, making Isabelle round on him with a frown. The blonde wiggles mud-caked fingers at her.

        “Filthy inside and out.” At that moment, the elevator grinds to a halt, the sound of screeching brakes making me wince.

        “Time to get this thing fixed,” Isabelle murmurs, yanking the door open sharply. Jace, Alec and I follow her into the Institute’s entryway. My brother unzips his jacket and slings it over one of the pegs hanging on the wall as Alec plops down on a low wooden bench next to him, in the process of shedding his mud-covered boots. I stumble down to sit beside the Lightwood boy, grimacing as my leg protests, albeit not extremely painfully.

        I want to take off my jacket, but I can't, since Maryse Lightwood, Alec and Isabelle’s mother, could come back at any day and we definitely don't want her to see my wings. Instead, I settle for kicking off my boots—literally, since I don't want to use my left arm. They go flying a few feet, just missing Izzy, and I grin at the surprised girl. She rolls her eyes, although a faint smile is forming at the edge of her mouth. The Lightwood girl turns away, extracting a pin from her long, dark hair that allows it to tumble down her back in a waterfall.

        “Now I'm hungry,” she says. “I wish mom were here to cook us something.”

        “Better she isn't,” Jace replies, unbuckling his sword belt. I throw a knife into the steadily growing pile of weapons that I'm extracting from my person. “She'd already be shrieking about the rugs.” I smirk, unbuckling my weapon belt one-handed.

        “You're right about that,” an unfamiliar voice says. My brother swings around, hand flying to his weapon, and my head snaps up as my good arm reaches for a knife in the pile of weapons beside me. However, instead of some sort of monster, my gaze is met with the sight of a woman dressed in a stiff-looking black travel suit, hair as black as Izzy’s drawn back into a thick rope hanging halfway down her back, glacial blue eyes sweeping over the four of us like a searchlight.

        “Mom!” Isabelle exclaims, running in for a hug. Alec gets up to hug his mother as well, trying to hide the fact that he's still limping. I spot the tension in his shoulders, the slight churning of _fear_  through the bond, immediately connecting it to the possibility that his father may be here. From what I'd heard about Robert Lightwood, if the man was here, then it was bad for Alec. And by bad, it meant that Alec adds more bruises and scars to his already much more than sizeable collection. But for now, I can only watch the three awkwardly from my position, Jace standing in front of me and off to the side.

        “Where's dad?” Isabelle asks, stepping away from her mother. “And Max?” An imperceptible pause passes before Maryse Lightwood speaks.

        “Max is in his room. And your father, unfortunately, is still in Alicante. There was some business there that required his attention.” 

       Alec's shoulders relax.

        “Is something wrong?” Izzy asks concernedly. She probably doesn't know what her father does to her older brother.

        “I could ask you that,” her mother replies, tone dry as the Sahara. “Is Alec limping?”

        “I…”

        “We had a run-in with a Dragoniade demon in the subway tunnels,” Jace cuts in smoothly. “It was nothing.”

        “And I suppose that Greater Demon you fought last week, that was nothing too?” Maryse asks sharply. Her eyes, for some reason unknown to me, are trained on me. Me and my knotted, tangled, rat’s nest of a head of hair. Me and my torn up clothes. Me and my cut face, so unlike her own daughters spotless, impeccable appearance. By the Angel, did she know about my wings? How could she possibly _know_? She must hate me. Wish that I was the only one hurt. I wish I was too. 

       My words get stuck in my throat, like always when I talk to someone outside of my small (but growing slightly) circle of trusted friends (read: help, I’m having a fucking panic attack). Jace is the one who replies.

        “That wasn't planned for. It was a mistake—” 

        “Jace!” a childish voice exclaims. A boy who appears to be Max, the youngest Lightwood, slips past Maryse and darts into the room, evading his mother's reaching hands. “You're back! You're all back!” He turns in a circle, grinning at both Alec and Isabelle. “I thought I heard the elevator.” His gaze lands on me and the young boy frowns. “Who's that?”

        “I thought I told you to stay in your room,” Maryse cuts in briskly, snatching away anyone's chance to introduce me to Max.

        “I don't remember that,” the young boy replies with a seriousness that makes even Alec (stoic, unreachable, loyal, amazing, protective Alec) smile. Maxwell Lightwood is small for a nine-year-old, but has a self-contained wisdom that, added together with his oversized glasses, gives him the air of someone much older. It’s slightly comical, but not enough for you not to take him seriously. 

        Alec reaches over to ruffle his brother's hair, but his face falls slightly when Max’s attention is still fixed on Jace, eyes shining and already distracted from his earlier query of who I am.

        “I heard you fought a Greater Demon,” the young boy says, all excitement returning to his voice. “Was it awesome?” I wince.

        “It was… different,” Jace stalls. “How was Alicante?”

        “It was awesome,” Max replies with the same amount of enthusiasm. “We saw the coolest stuff. There's this huge armory in Alicante and they took me to some of the place where they make the weapons. They showed me a new way to make seraph blades too, so they last longer, and I'm going to try to get Hodge to show me—” 

       Jace’s eyes flicker over to his adopted mother, the same question I'm thinking spoken clearly through his eyes. Maryse sees both the look and the question, lips thinning into a line.

        “That enough, Max,” the woman says, taking her young son by the arm. Max cranes his head up to give her a look of surprise.

        “But I'm talking to Jace—” 

        “I can see that.” Maryse pushes the youngest Lightwood to his older sister. “Isabelle, Alec, take your brother to his room. Jace” —there's a tightness to her tone as my brother's name is spoken— “get yourself cleaned up and meet me in the library as soon as you can. Bring the girl with you.”

        “I don't get it,” Alec says, looking from his mother to the blonde, then back again. “What's going on?” I smile grimly.

        “Is this about my father?” Jace asks. “And her uncle?” Maryse jerks, like the words “my father” had been a slap.

        “We'll discuss Hodge later as well.” The woman's eyes are trained on Max, tone warning.

        “But, mother,” Isabelle protests. “If you're going to punish Jace and Jess, you should punish us as well. It would only be fair. We all did exactly the same things.” 

        There's a beat of silence.

       “No,” Maryse says. “You didn't.”


	2. Chapter 2

        I bite my lip as Maryse leaves with Max.

        “Is that what she's usually like?” I ask quietly. Jace forces a laugh.

        “Unfortunately, yes,” he replies, making me frown.

        “I think I'm going to be sleeping on the roof from now on,” I mutter. It's not in the least sarcastic. Alec grimaces and heads off, Isabelle and Jace following. I sigh and head the opposite way, towards the kitchen, where I start making myself a cup of coffee, sprinting upstairs to change before I come back down for it, showered, dressed in fresh clothes and glamour freshly applied to my hair.

       Grabbing the still piping-hot mug, I regard myself warily in the reflection of the countertop, wondering what Alec’s mother would think. I'm dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves cut off, big black letters that spell out ‘SORRY I'M LATE. I GOT CAUGHT UP ENJOYING MY LAST FEW MINUTES OF NOT BEING HERE’ (aptly applied to both my future and current situation), which is partially why I have a black hoodie on (it's August and I'm cold. Sue me, I lived in Australia for a third of my life), covering up the words on my shirt, the other reason being my black wings that are very much real and attached permanently to my back.

       The bottom half of my outfit consists of black cargo pants and white socks, but no shoes; I hate wearing shoes and don't wear them unless I have to. My currently chocolate-brown hair is pulled up in a rapidly unraveling lazy bun, meaning that hair is already spilling out of place, going all over. 

        Shrugging and deciding to fuck Maryse Lightwood and her opinions, I take my coffee (nectar of the gods, I tell you) and head to the library, knocking before I enter. The mother of the Lightwood children sits in Hodge’s old chair by the fire, a glass of wine in her hand, Jace sitting across from her. Light streams down from the high windows, highlighting the streaks of gray in Maryse’s hair.

        “Jessamine Grace Morgenstern?” she asks me, voice neutral yet cold. “The mute girl, correct?” I purse my lips, glancing at my brother for help.

        “Her name is Jessa Grace,” Jace says tightly. Maryse raises a single skeptical eyebrow but doesn't make anymore comments. 

        I ghost over to the two, slipping silently into a wing-back chair beside Jace. Maryse Lightwood looks at the two of us consideringly.

        “Where's your twin?” she asks me. I scowl, setting my coffee mug down on the desk without a coaster and whipping out my stele in order to draw a speak in tongues rune on my stomach, carefully concealing Alec’s _parabatai_ rune.

        _Sparkle place_ , I sign once I've finished drawing the Mark. The Lightwood mother raises a stern, penciled eyebrow.

        “Who is this Sparkle?” I roll my eyes.

        _M-A-G-N-U-S B-A-N-E_ , I sign out slowly. The eyebrow attempts to join with Maryse’s hairline.

        “The High Warlock of Brooklyn?” she asks. I nod, grinning. She sighs, shifting in her seat. “How long have you three known?” Maryse asks abruptly. Jace and I both look at her blankly.

        “Known what?” my brother finally asks.

        “Don’t be stupid,” his adoptive mother snaps. “You know exactly what I’m asking you.” The raven-haired woman stares at the glass in her hand. “How long have you known that Valentine is your father? Your uncle?” Jace and I both stare at her incredulously—before I begin laughing hysterically. When I sober, both Maryse and Jace are looking at me sternly, although for different reasons. Maryse probably thinks I’m improper, unfit to be a Shadowhunter. **Congratulations, bitch, I am unfit to be a Nephilim. Why do you think I live with a warlock?** Jace, however is looking at me with exasperation, the words “not now” clear in his blue gaze. 

        “About as long as you have,” Jace directs at his adoptive mother. Maryse shakes her head slowly.

        “I don't believe that.” My brother sits up ramrod straight, hands curled into fists, and I pick my coffee off of the desk, taking a big gulp of it and preparing to do damage control.

        “You don't believe me?” the blonde asks, voice incredulous, disbelieving.

        “It doesn't make sense, Jace,” Maryse replies. “How could you three not have known who your own father, your own uncle, is?” I raise an eyebrow, half ready to just stand up and storm out of the library.

        _Told was M-I-C-H-A-E-L Wayland_  [a combination of the signs for 'way' and land'] _. Live Wayland_   _country house—_

        “A nice touch, that,” Maryse interrupts dismissively. “And your name? What's your real name?” My eyebrow raises higher as I take another gulp of coffee.

        “You know my real name,” Jace replies, the tone in his voice concealing his helpless feelings.

        “Jonathan,” my brother’s adoptive mother muses. “I knew that was Valentine’s son’s name. I knew Michael had a son named Jonathan too. It's a common enough Shadowhunter name—I never thought it was strange they shared it, and as for Michael's boy’s middle name, I never inquired.” She pauses to take a small sip of her wine. I kinda understand why she's drinking. If I was her, I'd want to have this conversation tipsy at the very least. “But now I can't help wondering,” she continues. “What was Michael’s son’s real middle name? How long had Valentine been planning what he was going to do? How long did he know he was going to murder Jonathan Wayland?”

        She pauses, eyes boring into Jace. “You never looked like Michael. And now that you two are beside each other, you both look nothing like Michael. But sometimes children don't look like their parents. I didn't think about it before. But now I can see Valentine in you. Both of you. The way you're looking at me. That defiance. You don't care what I say, do you?”

        I stand abruptly, kicking my chair back.

        “Would it make a difference if I did?” Jace asks calmly, placing a hand on my forearm and dragging me back down into the chair. His adoptive mother places the glass on the desk. It's empty, I note.

        “And you answer questions with questions to throw me off, just like Valentine always did. Maybe I should have known.” I give a strangled laugh, slamming my coffee mug down on the desk. Hot coffee slops over the side, onto my hand. I don't feel the pain. I don’t know why I’m so angry. Or defensive. Or hysterical. But, something in me is ramming the walls of the box where I’ve shoved all of my anger, pain and sadness. And there’s definiteky some cracks. 

        “Maybe nothing,” Jace replies calmly, hand moving to my shoulder. “I'm still exactly the same person I've been for the past seven years. Nothing's changed about me. If I didn't remind you of Valentine before, I don't see why I would now.” 

        “Surely when we talked about Michael, you must have known we couldn't possibly have meant your father,” Maryse says, leaning forwards slightly. “The things we said about him could never have applied to Valentine.”

        “You said he was a good man,” my brother replies tightly. “A brave Shadowhunter. A loving father. I thought that seemed accurate enough.”

        “What about photographs?” his adoptive mother continues, seeming to be content with grilling the blonde until he slips up. We're going to be here a long time. “You must have seen photographs of Michael Wayland and realized he wasn't the man you called your father.” The woman bites her lip. “Help me out here, Jace.” I snort.

        “All the photographs were destroyed in the Uprising,” Jace explains. “That's what you told me. Now I wonder if it wasn't because Valentine had them all burned so nobody would know who was in the Circle. None of us had a photograph of our father. Fathers. Uncle, whatever you want to call him.” I sigh, Maryse echoing my sentiment nonverbally by reaching up to massage her temple.

        “I can't believe this,” she mutters to herself. “It's insane.”

        “So don't believe it,” Jace says, looking truly sad and almost pleading. “Believe me. Us.”

        “Don't you think I want to?” the Lightwood’s mother demands, dropping her hand.

        “I didn't know,” Jace insists for the both of us yet again. “ _We_  didn't know. And when he asked us to come with him back to Idris, we both said no. We're still here. Doesn't that count for anything?” Maryse looks at a nearby decanter of wine, the look on her face telling me that she's considering another glass before banishing the notion in favor of speaking.

        “I wish it did,” she replies. “But there are so many reasons your father, your uncle, might want you to remain at the Institute. Where Valentine is concerned, I can't afford to trust anyone his influence has touched.” I'm stewing, knuckles white and grip steadily tightening on the handle of my mug. Jace’s hand rubs calming circles on my shoulder.

        “His influence touched you,” Jace points out.

        “And I repudiated him,” Maryse replies. “Have you? Could you?” Her eyes, the same color as Alec’s, bore into the two of us. “Tell me you hate him, Jace. Jessamine. Tell me you hate that man and everything he stands for.” A moment passes, then another, and the blonde looks down at the hand that remains in his lap, tightly fisted as his other hand stills on my shoulder. My hands are frozen, because even though Valentine had lied to me, tricked me, I can't help but remember how he took us in when he could have left Jak and me in the system, abandoned us. I can't sign it, let alone say it. I owe the man my life.

        “I can't say that,” he finally replies for both of us. Maryse sucks in a breath.

        “And you?” she asks me. I shake my head slowly. She sighs. “Why not?”

        “Why can't you say that you trust us?” Jace counters. “I've lived with you almost half my life. Surely you must know me better than that? And what about Jessa? I trust her, and I'm almost never wrong. We grew up together.”

        “You sound so honest, Jonathan,” Maryse murmurs. “You always have, even when you were a little boy trying to pin the blame for something you'd done wrong on Isabelle or Alec. I've only ever met one person who could sound as persuasive as you.”

        “You mean my father,” Jace murmurs, genuinely sad.

        “There were only ever two kinds of people in the world for Valentine,” she says. “Those who were for the Circle and those who were against it. The latter were enemies and the former were weapons in his arsenal.” A sigh. “I saw him try to turn each of his friends, even his own wife, into a weapon for the Cause—and you want to me to believe he wouldn't have done the same to his own son?” Maryse continues. She shakes her head. “I knew him better than that.”

        The older woman looks at the blonde, at the both of us, with sadness in her gaze. “You are all arrows shot directly into the heart of the Clave, Jace, Jak and Jessamine. You are Valentine’s arrows. Whether you know it or not.” I growl and Jace sucks in a pained breath before he stands abruptly, turning on heel and exiting the room. I give Maryse a withering glare before following my brother out.


	3. Chapter 3

        Jace and I end up in the Hunter’s Moon. I haven’t heard of it a whole lot, but I do that it’s a bar. A werewolf bar but a bar nonetheless. The chill September air scything through my hoodie and freezing me to the core. I hadn’t stopped to grab an extra coat, unlike Jace, so there’s not really anything I can do about it. 

       Stepping inside, a rush of murmurs immediately sweep through the room. I keep my head down and the blonde beside me acts like he doesn't notice anything strange, striding over to the bar and hooking a bar stool towards himself with one booted foot. He settles onto the stool, elbows on the bar, and I take the one beside him, perching cross-legged on top of mine with my boots at the base of the stool. Silence follows the murmurs, and in that time Jace orders a single malt, downing half the drink with a flip of his wrist. I tap the bar and the bartender comes over. 

        _Water?_ I sign. The man balks for a moment before nodding. I smile softly, looking around the bar warily, focusing on keeping my wings still from where they're tucked underneath my hoodie, pressed up against the soft material. The bartender comes back over, sliding a glass of water over the bar, straight into my waiting hand. Jace leans on his elbows beside me, addressing the bartender.

        “I take it that you don't serve Silver Bullet here,” he says. “Too many bad associations?” I groan, realizing why Jace is here, before pinching the blonde on the back of his neck as the bartender shakes his head in disgust.

        “Actually, we don't serve it because it's really crappy beer,” a burly werewolf informs my brother. I curse mentally, burying my head in my hands as Jace turns his gaze upon the werewolf and smiles delightedly.

        “And what are you drinking?” Jace queries, leaning closer to the Downworlder. “A little hair of the dog that bit—well, everyone?” I growl in annoyance, reaching for my brother’s arm. He moves it away from me. _Restlessness_  seethes in my gut, and I bite my lip as I work to separate it from my own emotions. 

        “You really think you're pretty funny. Don't you?” the werewolf asks.

        “Bat,” a girl on the other end of the bar says in warning. “Don't.” I give the girl a hopeless look, hand darting out to grasp Jace’s arm and pull him away. The blonde shakes me off.

        “Don't you?” the werewolf that the girl had called Bat repeats, regardless of the girl’s warning.

        “Who am I to deny the obvious?” Jace replies. I grit my teeth as Jace’s eyes slide over to the girl, then back to Bat. “I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what happened to your face? It looks like—” 

        He leans forwards, whispering something to Bat that I can't hear, but makes Bat swing a punch at the blonde. However, Jace isn't standing there anymore. He's a good five feet away, laughing as Bat’s fist connects with his abandoned glass, sending the glass soaring across the bar to strike the opposite wall. I leap over the bar, snatching the glass out of the air, mere millimeters before it hits the wall, setting it down on the bar quietly and making my way, barefoot, to the opposite side again, taking a small sip of my water as I slump down on my stool. The bartender is leaning over the bar, fist knotted in Bat’s shirt.

        “That's enough,” he commands. “Bat, why don't you take a walk and cool down.” The aforementioned werewolf twists in the bartender’s grasp.

        “Take a walk?” he demands. “Did you hear—” 

        “I heard,” the other man replies, voice low. “They're Shadowhunters. Walk it off, cub.” I groan as Bat swears, pulling away and stalking off to the exit, shoulders stiff with rage. The door bangs shut behind him, and my gaze swivels to my brother. He's stopped smiling, looking at the bartender with resentment.

        “That wasn't necessary,” he says. “I can handle myself.” I snort quietly, taking another sip of my water as the bartender regards the blonde.

        “It's my bar I'm worried about,” the werewolf finally replies. “You might want to take your business elsewhere, Shadowhunters, if you don't want any trouble.” He glances at me. “Thanks for saving the glass.”

        “I didn't say I didn't want trouble,” Jace replies, sitting back down on his stool. “Besides, I didn't get to finish my drink.” 

        “Looks like you finished it to me,” the girl from earlier cuts in. I nod appreciatively at her, glancing at Jace with a glare. The blonde is looking at her, blank. Amusement suddenly grows in his eyes and the bond, but then the bartender slides another drink in front of Jace, despite my frantic head shaking.

        “Here you go.”

        “Pete—” 

        The girl doesn't get to finish, because at that moment, the door flies open, banging against the wall to reveal Bat silhouetted in the doorway, shirt and sleeves soaked in fresh blood that drops onto the floor. I get up quickly, slipping my boots on. The girl slips off her stool and hurries over to the larger werewolf.

        “Bat! Are you hurt?” The Downworlders face is ashen.

        “An attack,” he says. “There's a body in the alley. A dead kid. Blood—everywhere.” I hiss out a breath as Bat shakes his head, looking down at himself as if he's just noticed the blood. “Not my blood,” he reassures the girl. “I'm fine.”

        “A body?” the bartender asks. “But who—” 

        Seats scrape across the floor as they're abandoned and the pack rushes to the doorway. I hear snatches of faint conversation as I approach.

        “His throat cut? How—”

       “Who—“ 

       “Why—“ 

        “I think it's a little too late for him to need protection if he's already dead,” Jace interrupts lazily. I grit my teeth, ready to kill him myself before the werewolves do.

        “You want to be careful, Nephilim,” the bartender says quietly. “You want to be very careful.”

        “Do I?” Jace asks.

        “So you're going to do nothing and let your friend do all the work?” Bat demands. “Is that it?”

        “I'm going to finish my drink if you'll let me,” my brother replies. I groan in embarrassment, glaring at the blonde.

        “So that's the attitude of the Clave, a week after the Accords?” Pete asks, visibly disgusted. “The death of Downworlders is nothing to you?” Jace smirks. 

        “How like Downworlders, expecting the Clave to clean your mess up for you,” he says. “As if we could be bothered just because some stupid cub decided to splatter-paint himself all over your alley—” 

        And then the blonde uses a horribly insulting word about werewolves and human women. Before anyone else can move, Bat has flung himself as the Shadowhunter—but my brother is gone, standing on the bar, feet planted wide apart. The burly werewolf stumbles and whirls around, staring at the blonde in astonishment. I roll my eyes; it’s a party trick, really, only a matter of speed and timing. 

       My brother holds out a hand and curls his fingers towards himself, a common playground gesture: ‘come and get me.’ And then the entire pack rushes at him. Barely a few seconds pass before the blonde is dragged down into a pile of seething, thrashing, kicking, scratching and lashing werewolves. I watch expressionlessly. He'll be fine. And for the insults he'd said, he definitely deserves it. 

        “That's enough,” a familiar voice says authoritatively. I turn quickly, greeted by the sight of a tired-looking Luke. “That's enough,” the alpha repeats calmly. “Leave the boy alone.” The pack seemingly melts away from Jace, leaving only Bat still standing, one hand gripping the back of Jace’s shirt and the other holding a short-bladed knife. My brother himself is bloody-faced,  but sporting a dangerous-looking grin nonetheless.

        “He's not a boy,” Bat snarls. “He's a Shadowhunter.”

        “They're welcome enough here,” Luke replies, tone neutral. “They are our allies.”

        “He said it didn't matter,” Bat snaps, raging. “About Joseph—” 

        “I know,” the alpha interrupts quietly. His eyes drift over both Jace and me before settling on the blonde. “Did you come in here just to pick a fight, Jace Wayland?” My brother smiled in reply, split lip stretching and a trickle of blood running down his chin. I huff, scowling at the blonde irately. 

        “Luke.” Bat lets go of the back of Jace's shirt. “I didn't know—” 

        “There's nothing to know,” Luke cuts in flatly, tiredness in his eyes showing minimally in his voice.

        “He said the Clave wouldn't care about the death of a single lycanthrope, even a child,” the bartender, Pete pipes up. “And it's a week after the Accords, Luke.” I scowl.

        _Angel not speak for Clave,_ I sign with frustration.

        “And there's nothing he could have done even if he'd wanted to,” Luke adds. “Isn't that right?”

        “How do you—” 

        “I know what happened,” Luke murmurs. “With Maryse.” My features close off and Jace stiffens beside me.

        “Who told you? Clary?"

        “Not Clary,” Luke replies with a shake of his sad. “I'm the pack leader, Jace. I hear things. Now come on. Lets go to Pete’s office and talk.” My brother hesitates momentarily before shrugging.

        “Fine,” the blonde says. “But you owe me for the Scotch I didn't drink.”


	4. Chapter 4

        The door to Pete’s office opens, and Jace picks up a yellow pencil that's lying on the desk, sending it sailing towards the entering people. It flies through the air and strikes the wall just beside Luke’s head, vibrating in place from the force of the throw. The werewolf's eyes widen and my brother smiles faintly.

        “Sorry, I didn't realize it was you.” The alpha moves aside to reveal Simon and Clary, indicating them with a wave of his hand.

        “I brought some people to see you.” Jace’s eyes move to them, blank.

        “Unfortunately, I only had the one pencil.”

        “Jace—” 

        “I don't want him in here,” the blonde interrupts, jerking his chin at Simon.

        “That's hardly fair,” Clary protests indignantly.

        “Out, mundane,” my brother commands, pointing at the door. Simon waves a hand.

        “It's fine. I'll wait in the hallway.” He leaves, although I can tell that he's restraining himself from slamming the door behind him. Jace’s blue eyes flicker over to me.

        “You can stay or go,,” he informs me. “You've heard this before.” I nod silently and leave, closing the door silently behind me. While they're talking, I could help the werewolves clean up the werewolf boy’s body in the alley. Two sets of eyes stare at me. One pair belongs to the girl from earlier, whom Luke had introduced as Maia. The other belongs to Simon.

        “Did you get kicked out too?” he asks. I shake my head simply, walking past them and pulling out my phone to text Jak. 

You, 8:00 p.m

U thr?

Significant Annoyance, 8:01 p.m

Jessa? How r u? What did J do? Got call from Luke

You, 8:01 p.m

NM. Cmin bck sn.

Significant Annoyance, 8:01 p.m

WTF happened

You, 8:01 p.m

J strtd fight w werewolves. He's fn.

Significant Annoyance, 8:01 p.m

How r u

You, 8:01 p.m

Fn. Going 2 cln up dead bdy

Significant Annoyance, 8:02 p.m

WHAT?

You, 8:02 p.m

Rlx. Dead wrwlf kid. Nm ws Joseph.

Significant Annoyance, 8:02 p.m

U better b home soon

You, 8:02 p.m

I wll.

        Shutting off the phone, I make my way outside and shoved slightly before walking over to the alley in which Bat had said he'd found the body. There's already a few werewolves cleaning up. I approach, making my footsteps audible.

        _Help?_ I sign in askance. There's a grunt before one of the werewolves turn and I recognize him as Bat.

        “Why? Thought you Shadowhunters were so much better than us Downworlders?” he spits, as of the word ‘Shadowhunter’ was burning a hole in his mouth. I frown.

        _Brother. Not me,_ I correct. A snort.

        “And how do I know that you're any different?” I roll my eyes.

        _Live with warlock_ [a combination of 'war' and 'lock'], I sign, vaguely annoyed. Bat frowns.

        “Fine. Take Joseph inside, into the back room.” I nod in affirmation, bending down to hoist the kids body up in a fireman's carry. I get several weird looks when I make my way into the bar, but ignore them in favor of hauling the kids body into the back room, where Pete awaits.

        “Where's Bat?” the bartender demands. I set the kid down before I sign anything.

        _Out. Cleaning._ He grunts.

        “Why'd they send you in?” I shrug.

        _There. Offered._ The werewolfs eyebrow raises, but he nods.

        “You can go now,” he says flatly. I obey, waiting at the bar until the others come out of Pete’s office.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

        Jace, Luke, Clary and I walk up to the front doors of the Institute. Underneath the hoodie, I'm sweating slightly, the warmth of both my wings and my jacket heating me up now. My brother reaches into his pocket but then stops, laughing hollowly.

        “I forgot,” he murmurs. “Maryse took my keys from me before I left.”

        “Of course she did,” Luke replies, standing directly in front of the Institute's doors. “These doors are just like the ones at the Council Hall in Idris. I never thought I would see their like again.”

        “If we don't have a key—” 

        “One shouldn't be necessary,” Luke interrupts Clary. “An Institute should be open to any of the Nephilim who mean no harm to the inhabitants.”

        “What if they mean harm to us?” Jace mutters. Luke’s mouth quirks at the edges.

        “I don't think that makes a difference.”

        “Clave always stacks the deck their way,” I murmur quietly. Luke looks a bit surprised, but he covers it up well. It’s the first time I’ve spoken in front of him, and it’s well deserved: putting up with Jace is a challenge, especially when he’s in one of his moods. The fact that the alpha didn’t turn us away after we—well, more like Jace—trashed the Hunter’s Moon was more than I could say for a lot of people I knew. 

        “Did she take your stele too?” Clary asks.

        “I didn't take anything when I left,” Jace admits. I roll my eyes. “I didn't want to take anything the Lightwoods got for me.” Luke looks at Jace, concern written all over his face.

        “Every Shadowhunter must have a stele,” he says.

        “So I'll get another one,” the blonde replies, placing his hands on the Institute doors. “In the name of the Clave, I ask entry to this holy place. And in the name of the Angel Raziel, I ask your blessings upon my mission against—” 

        The doors swing open before he finishes. “Well, that's convenient,” my brother muses. “I guess blessings are easier to come by than I thought. Maybe I should ask for blessings on my mission against all those who wear white after Labor Day.”

        “The Angel knows what your mission is,” Luke says. “You don't have to say the words aloud, Jonathan.”

        “Don't call me that,” Jace snaps. “It's not my name.” We make our way through the ground floor of the cathedral, past countless empty pews and an everlasting fire burning upon the altar. Luke looks around with curiosity, and seems surprised when the elevator arrives to take us all upstairs.

        “This must have been Maryse’s idea,” he says as we get in. “It's entirely her taste.” 

        “It's been here as long as I have,” Jace replies, just as the door clangs shut behind us. The ride up is brief, silent and awkward. The death trap comes to a clanging stop and everyone steps out, only to find Church waiting for us in the entryway with a dilapidated red bow around his neck. Jace bends over to rub the back of his hand along the cat’s head.

        “Where Maryse?” he asks. Church meows, then heads off down the corridor with the rest of us trailing along after him. Luke’s eyes dart around, curiosity written into them, my brother remains grimly silent and Clary is just silent.

        “I never thought I'd see the inside of this place,” the werewolf comments.

        “Does it look like you thought it would?” Clary asks gently. 

        “I've been to the Institutes in London and Paris; this is not unlike those, no,” Luke replies thoughtfully. “Though somehow—” 

        “Somehow what?” Jace asks sharply, several paces ahead.

        “Colder,” Luke finishes. From then on, it's silence until we reach the library. Church sits down, like he's saying that he doesn't want to go any farther. Voices are audible through the thick wooden door, but Jace simply pushes the doors open without so much as knocking, walking in like he owns the place. There's an exclamation of surprise. Behind Hodge’s old desk sits Maryse Lightwood, but beside her stands a figure that I remember well: a slender teenage boy with curling dark hair and honey-colored skin. 

        “Raphael?” Clary asks, clearly shocked. For a moment, the unshakeable Raphael looks taken aback—but then he smiles, revealing very white and very sharp teeth.

        “Dios,” he says, addressing Jace. “What happened to you, brother? You look as if a pack of wolves tried to tear you apart. Jessa, you look like you had to deal with another one of Jak’s idiotic escapades.” I groan, running a hand through my currently chocolate-brown hair with exasperation.

        “That's either a shockingly good guess or you heard about what happened,” my brother replies, tone dry. Raphael's full smile lessens into a grin.

        “I hear things.” Maryse rises to her feet.

        “Jace,” she says, anxiety clear in her voice. “Did something happen? Why are you back so soon? I thought you were going to stay with—” 

        Her gaze slips onto Luke and Clary.

        “And who are you?” she inquires.

        “Jace’s sister,” the redhead replies flatly.

        “Yes, I can see it,” Maryse murmurs, yes testing on Clary. “You look like Valentine. All three of you do.” She turns back to Jace. “You brought your sister with you? And a mundane, as wel? It's not safe for any of you here right now. And especially a mundane—” 

        “But I'm not a mundane,” Luke interrupts, a faint smile appearing on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

        Maryse’s expression changes from anxious to shocked as she really looks at the werewolf for the first time. The recognization that passes over her face for a brief second mingles with a faint horror and dread, though, and I suspect that Luke and Maryse hadn’t parted on the most agreeable of terms. 

        “Lucian?”

        “Hello, Maryse,” Luke replies. “It's been a long time.” The Lightwoods’ mother sits down.

        “Lucian,” she repeats, hand flat on the desk. “Lucian Graymark.” Raphael, who's been watching with a curious gaze, turns to Luke.

        “You killed Gabriel,” he states matter-of-factly. The werewolf shrugs.

        “I did, yes, just like he killed the pack leader before him. That's how it works with lycanthropes.” Maryse glances up at this.

        “The pack leader?” she asks faintly. 

        “If you lead the pack now, it's time for us to talk,” Raphael says, inclining his head in Luke’s direction, although his eyes give away his wariness. I groan out loud and the vampire’s mouth twitches into a small smile. “Though not at this exact moment, perhaps.” I breath a sigh of relief, shoulders loosening.

        “I'll send someone over to arrange it,” Luke replies, ignoring me. “Things have been busy lately. I might be behind on the niceties.”

        “You might,” Raphael replies mysteriously. The vampire turns on Maryse. “Is our business here concluded?”

        “If you say the Night Children aren't involved in these killings, then I'll take you at your word,” Maryse confirms. “I'm required to, unless other evidence comes to light.” The vampire frowns.

        “To light? That is not a phrase I like.” I snort, and Raphael shoots me a small smile. “Keep an eye on Jak, Jessa. He reminds me of Magnus too much.” With those final words, the vampire turns on heel, transparency spreading up his arms, down his chest and then throughout his entire body, until he's completely gone. The Lightwoods’ mother lets out a sigh of relief as Clary simply gapes.

        “Is he dead?” I blink at the redhead.

        _D-U-H. Vampire._

        “What, Raphael?” Jace asks, disregarding my sarcastic response. “Not likely. That was just a projection of him. He can't come into the Institute in his corporeal form.”

        “Why not?” the ever-inquisitive girl queries.

        “Because this is hallowed ground,” Maryse explains. “And he is damned.” Her glacial-blue gaze turns to Luke, suspicion clouding those eerie orbs. “You, head of the pack here?” she asks, reiterating her previous question. “I suppose I should hardly be surprised. If does seem to be your method, doesn't it?” The werewolf seems to ignore the palpable bitterness in her voice, which stands out like a grizzly bear in a snowstorm. 

        “Was Raphael here about the cub who was killed today?”

        “That, and a dead warlock,” Maryse confirms. “Found murdered downtown, two days apart.” I suck in a sharp breath.

        “A warlock?” Clary repeats. “But why was Raphael here?”

        “The warlock was drained of blood,” Maryse replies patiently. “It seems that whoever murdered the werewolf was interrupted before the blood could be taken, but suspicion naturally fell on the Night Children. The vampire came here to assure me his folk had nothing to do with it.” 

        “Do you believe him?” my brother asks curiously.

        “I don't care to talk about Clave business with you right now, Jace—especially not in front of Lucian Graymark,” Maryse replies sharply.

        “I'm just called Luke now,” Luke corrects calmly. “Luke Garroway.” Maryse shakes her head.

        “I hardly recognized you,” she admits. “You look like a mundane.”

        “That's the idea, yes,” the werewolf replies good-naturedly.

        “We all thought you were dead,” Maryse murmured.

        “Hoped,” Luke corrects in the same neutral tone. “Hoped I was dead.” The Lightwoods’ mother looks like she'd swallowed something particularly unpleasant.

        “You might as well sit down,” she finally says, pointing towards the chairs in front of the desk. We all sit, and without further ado Maryse gets straight to business. “Now, perhaps you might tell me why you're here,” the woman says sharply.

        “Jace wants a trial before the Clave,” Luke says without hesitation. “I'm willing to vouch for him. I was there that night at Renwick’s, when Valentine revealed himself. I fought him and we nearly killed each other. I can confirm that everything Jace says happened is the truth.”

        “I'm not sure what your word is worth,” Maryse replies.

        “I may be a lycanthrope, but I'm also a Shadowhunter,” Luke replies. “I'm walking to be tried by the Sword, if that will help.” 

       “You're not a Shadowhunter,” Maryse snaps at Luke. “You haven't lived by the Law of the Clave in a long, long time.”

        “There was a time when you didn't live by it either,” the werewolf counters. Color floods Maryse’s cheeks. “I would have thought that by now you would have gotten past not being able to trust anyone, Maryse,” Luke adds quietly.

        “Some things you never forget,” Maryse replies, voice holding a dangerous softness. “You think pretending his own death was the biggest lie Valentine ever told us? You think charm is the same as honesty? I used to think so. I was wrong.” The female Shadowhunter stands and leans on the table. “He told us he would lay down his life for the Circle and that he expected us to do the same,” she tells us. “And we would have—all of us—I know it. I nearly did it.” Her gaze shifts to my cousins and me before shifting back over to lock with Luke’s.

        “You remember the way he told us that the Uprising would be nothing, hardly a battle, a few unarmed ambassadors against the full might of the Circle. I was so confident in our swift victory that when I rode out to Alicante, I left Alec at him in his cradle. I asked Jocelyn to watch my children while I was away. She refused. I know why now. She knew—and so did you. And you didn't want us.” 

        “I'd tried to warn you about Valentine,” Luke protests. “You didn't listen.”

        “I don't mean about Valentine,” Maryse snaps. “I mean about the Uprising! When we arrived, there were fifty of us against five hundred Downworlders—” 

        "You'd been willing to slaughter them unarmed when you thought there would be only five of them,” Luke points out quietly. Maryse’s hands clench on the desk.

        “We were slaughtered,” she says quietly. “In the midst of the carnage, we looked to Valentine to lead us. But he wasn't there. By that time the Clave had surrounded the Hall of Accords. We thought Valentine had been killed, we're ready to give our own lives in a final desperate rush. Then I remembered Alec—if I died, what would happen to my little boy?” The previously emotionless woman’s voice catches. “So I laid my arms down and gave myself up to the Clave.” 

        “You did the right thing, Maryse,” the werewolf assures his former friend. Her glacial-blue gaze snaps onto him, eyes blazing.

        “Don't patronize me, werewolf,” she snaps. “If it weren't for you—” 

        “Don't yell at him!” Clary cuts in. “It's your fault for believing Valentine in the first place—” 

        I wince at the redheads statement as Maryse rounds on her, an edge to her voice.

        “You think I don't know that?” the Lightwoods’ mother asks. “Oh, the Clave made that point nicely when they questioned us—they had the Soul Sword and they knew when we were lying, but they couldn't make us talk—nothing could make us talk until—” 

        “Until what?” Luke interrupts, looking genuinely curious. I shoot him a glare. **You'd find out if you don't interrupt,** I think sourly. “I've never known,” the alpha werewolf continues. “I always wondered what they told you to make you turn on him.”

        “Just the truth,” Maryse replies tiredly, seeming to deflate. “That Valentine hadn't died there in the Hall. He'd fled—left us there to die without him. He'd died later, we were told, burned to death in his house. The Inquisitor showed us his bones. Of course, that was another lie…” The woman's voice trails off before she collects herself again, her next words crisp and clear. “It was all coming apart by then, anyway,” she admits. “We we're finally talking to one another, those of us in the Circle. Before the battle, Valentine had drawn me aside, told me that out of all the Circle, I was the one he trusted most, his closest lieutenant. When the Clave questioned us I found out he'd said the same thing to everyone.”

        “Hell hath no fury,” Jace murmurs.

        “He lied not just to the Clave but to us,” Maryse continues. “He used our loyalty and our affection. Just as he did when he sent you to us.” Her blue eyes are fixed upon Jace when she utters the last part. “And now he's back and he has the Mortal Cup. He's been planning all this for years, all along, all of it. I can't afford to trust you, Jace. Or Jessamine or her twin. I'm sorry.” Jace says nothing, face expressionless but pale.

        “Then what?” Luke asks. “What is it you expect them to do! Where are they supposed to go?” Maryse’s eyes drift over to Clary.

        “Why not his sister and their cousin?” she asks. “Family—” 

        I snort as my speak in tongues rune tingles, reminding me that it's still active.

        _Curious Angel sister,_ I snap in ASL. _Brave and Bright brothers. What tell? Hate you throw Angel out._ Maryse’s eyes narrow as her glacial gaze is turned upon me.

        “What do you know about it?” she asks skeptically. I bite my lip.

        _Family more than blood,_ I sign quickly. _Dad not dad. Sparkles dad. Like Brave, Bright and Curious Angel family. If try tear out, leave hole, never close._

        “Jessa,” my brother murmurs. “Enough.” He sounds defeated and that's not good. Clary turns on Maryse. “What about the Sword?” the redhead demands. Maryse looks at her, puzzled.

        “The Sword?” she repeats. I roll my eyes. 

        _Soul Sword,_ I sign emphatically.

        “The one you can use to tell if a Shadowhunter is lying or not,” Clary elaborates. “You can use it on Jace, Jessa and Jak.”

        “That's a good idea,” the aforementioned blonde breaks in, animation showing in Jace’s voice.

        “Clary, you mean well, but you don't know what the Sword entails,” Luke says gently. “The only one who can use it is the Inquisitor.” My brother sits forwards.

        “Then call her,” he demands. “Call the Inquisitor. I—we want to end this.” I nod in agreement.

        “No,” Luke insists.

        “The Insquisitor is already on her way—” 

        “Maryse!” Luke exclaims, voice cracking as he cuts off Maryse’s reluctant admission. “Tell me you haven't called her into this!”

       “I didn't!” the Lightwoods’ mother protests. “Did you think the Clave wouldn't involve itself in this wild tale of Forsaken warriors and Portals and staged deaths?” she demands. “After what Hodge did? We're all under investigation now, thanks to Valentine.” Jace looks stunned and I groan, imagining Magnus’ annoyance once he finds out about this. And I promised to come home tonight too.

        “The Inquisitor could put Jace, Jessamine and Jakson in prison,” Maryse continues. “She could strip their Marks. I thought it would be better…”

        “If none of them were here when she arrived,” Luke finishes. “No wonder you've been so eager to send them away. Jace especially.”

        “Who is the Inquisitor?” Clary demands, clearly confused. “What does she do?”

        _Clave attack dog._ _Disgraces who wants_ , I sign bitterly.

        “She ensures the Law hasn't been broken by Nephilim,” Maryse corrects. “She investigated all the Circle members after the Uprising, and she gave me scars that will never heal.”

        “She cursed Hodge?” Jace asks. “She sent you here?” 

        “She chose our exile and punishment,” his adoptive mother corrects. “She has no love for us, and hates your father."

        “I'm not leaving,” Jace declares, although his face is still rather pale. “What will she do to you if she gets here and I'm gone? She'll think you conspired to hide me. She'll punish you—you and Alec and Isabelle and Max. She won't care about Jess just yet; she's been outed as living with the High Warlock of Brooklyn. She'll expect Jess and Jak to be there.” Maryse says nothing.

        “Maryse, don't be a fool,” Luke says. “She'll blame you more if you let Jace go. He's right; the Inquisitor won't care about Jessa and Jak quite yet. But keeping Jace here and allowing the trial by Sword would be a sign of good faith.” 

        “Keeping Jace and letting the other two go—you can't be serious, Luke!” Clary exclaims. “She sounds awful.”

        “But if Jace leaves, he can never come back,” the werewolf says. “He’ll never be a Shadowhunter again, just like Jessa and Jak when they escaped from those Shadowhunters six years ago. Like it or not, the Inquisitor is the Law’s right hand. If Jace wants to stay a part of the Clave, he has to cooperate with her, he does have something on his side, something the members of the Circle did not have after the Uprising.” 

        “And what's that?” Maryse questions. The werewolf smiles faintly.

        “Unlike you, Jace is telling the truth,” Luke replies. Maryse sucks in a breath, then turns to Jace.

        “Ultimately, it's your decision,” she informs her adoptive son. “If you want the trial, you can stay here until the Inquisitor comes.”

        “I'll stay,” Jace says firmly.


	6. Chapter 6

       “Go wake Jace up,” Maryse commands both a newly-arrived Alec and me. “The Inquisitor is here and she wants to see Jace and Jessamine.” I shoot up from my half-asleep position at the kitchen counter, hot coffee slopping over the sides of my mug from the jerking movement. My _parabatai_ grabs me by the arm and I leave the coffee on the counter as the two of us walk to Jace’s room at a brisk pace, both of us still limping from our encounter with the Greater Demon.

       Alec knocks harshly on the wooden door leading to my blonde brother’s room as I take out my phone in order to check it for replies from either Magnus or Jak. I'd texted them earlier with a summary of what was happening and a warning for Jak to stay away from the Institute, as I'd decided to stay with my _parabatai_. There’s nothing, and I bite my lip in worry. Alec knocks again, and then the door is thrown open to reveal Jace standing in the doorway. The blonde blinks in surprise.

       “Alec?” he asks. I spot something on Alec’s neck and wince as I realize that it's a hickey. **Shit, Magnus, why?** Alec shrugs self-consciously.

       “Sorry it's so late. Mom sent us to get you. She wants to see you and Jess in the library.” That sentence gives me a sick feeling in my stomach as I think about what awaits us in there.

       “What time is it?” Jace asks.

       “Time for coffee,” I inform him.

       “Almost midnight,” Alec corrects, although a small smile has appeared at the corner of his mouth.

       “What the hell are you two doing up?” my brother demands, I shrug.

       “Couldn't sleep,” Alec says.

       “Coffee,” I add seriously. Jace runs a hand through his golden hair, a small smile gracing his features as well.

       “All right. Hang on a second while I change my shirt.” The blonde hurries over to his wardrobe and rummages through nearly folded shirts until he finds a long-sleeved one. He peels the shirt that he was wearing off carefully, some of it stuck to his skin in places by the dried blood. Alec looks away.

       “What happened to you?” my dark-haired _parabatai_ asks, voice slightly constricted.

       “Werewolves,” I explain shortly, rolling my eyes. “His fault, the bloody idiot.” Jace shrugs, padding after Alec and me, following the two of us to the library.

       “You have something on your neck,” he observes suddenly. Alec’s hand flies to his throat, eyes widening.

       “What?” he asks as I do a mental facepalm. 

       “Looks like a bite mark,” the blonde comments. “What have you been doing all night, anyway?”

       “Nothing,” Alec squeaks. One hand still clamped around his neck as he turns down another hallway. “I went walking in the park. Tried to clear my head.” I groan mentally.

       “And ran into a vampire?” Jace asks innocently.

       “What?” Alec exclaims. “No! I fell.”

       “On your neck?” the blonde asks skeptically. Alec makes a noise and Jace, thankfully, drops it.

       “Fine. Whatever. What did you need to clear your head about?”

       “You. My parents,” the Lightwood replies. “My mother explained why they were so angry after you two left. And she explained about Hodge. Thanks for not telling me that, by the way.” I wince at the subtle _resentment_ that blossoms in my gut. 

       “Sorry,” Jace says, taking his turn to flush, _embarrassment_  and _guilt_ countering Alec’s emotions. “I couldn't bring myself to do it, somehow.”

       “Well, it doesn't look good,” Alec replies, dropping his hand and turning to look accusingly at his blonde _parabatai_. “It looks like you were hiding things. Things about Valentine.” Jade stops dead in his tracks, and I take the time to redraw my speak in tongues rune before checking the color of my hair. Still chocolate-brown, which is good. I don’t know how long it’ll stay that way, though, which is more than a little off-putting. 

       “Do you think I was lying?” my brother demands, _anger_  rising to the top of the emotional pile of shit. “About not knowing Valentine was my father?”

       “No!” Alec exclaims, looking startled. “And I don't care who your father is either. It doesn't matter to me. You're still the same person.”

       “Whoever that is,” Jace mutters.

       “I'm just saying,” Alec rephrases, tone placating. “You can be a little—harsh sometimes. Just think before you talk, that's all I'm asking. Or maybe let Jess talk a bit. No one's your enemy here, Jace.” 

       “Well, thanks for the advice,” Jace replies. “I can walk myself the rest of the way to the library.”

       “Jace—” 

       But Jace has already hurried away. I glance at Alec with a shrug before jogging to catch up with the blonde, ignoring the small jolts of pain from my right leg. The two of us walk to the library in silence, because there's nothing to say besides empty words.

~~~~~

       When we arrive at the library, we see that the doors are already half open. Again, not bothering to knock, Jace strides in confidently. The first thing I notice is that someone sits in Hodge's old armchair, but it's not Maryse. It's a thin, gray-clothed woman who rises fluidly, like Isabelle’s electrum whip uncoiling from her wrist. The woman wears a long, old-fashioned dark gray cloak that falls to her booted feet. Beneath it is a fitted, slate-colored suit with a mandarin collar, stiff points pressing into her neck. The color of the woman's hair is a kind of colorless pale blonde, pulled back tightly with combs. It's her eyes that bother me the most; they're cold, flinty gray icicles. 

       “You are the boy?” she asks. “And the girl? What about the other boy?” Before either of us can open our mouthes (or raise a hand, in my case) another voice answers. It's Maryse, the woman having entered the library after Jace and me.

       “Yes, Inquisitor,” she says. “This is Jonathan and Jessamine Morgenstern. Jakson Morgenstern is otherwise indisposed.” I purse my lips at being called Morgenstern, but decide that now isn’t the best time to correct Maryse. The Inquisitor moves towards Jace and me like water flowing over a table, stopping in front of us and extending a long-fingered, pale hand, almost vampire-like. 

       “Look at me, boy,” she says, and then those fingers are under the blonde’s chin, forcing his head up. “You will call me Inquisitor. You will not call me anything else. Do you understand?” Her cold grey eyes drift over to me as I raise an eyebrow.

        _Not sure if sign in ASL_ , I sign smugly, unable to help myself.  _Call bitch, yes?_ The Inquisitor’s gaze gets even chillier.

       “My name is Jace,” my brother cuts in quickly. “Not boy. Jace Wayland.”

       “You have no right to the name of Wayland,” the Inquisitor says sharply. “You are Jonathan Morgenstern. To claim the name of Wayland makes you a liar. Just like your father.”

       “Actually, I prefer to think that I'm a liar in a way that's uniquely my own,” Jace drawls out.

       “I see,” the Inquisitor muses. A small smile curved her pale mouth. It's not a very nice smile, that I can assure you. 

       “You are both intolerant of authority, just as your father was. Like the angel whose name you all bear.” Those long fingers grip Jace’s chin with a sudden ferocity. “Lucifer was rewarded for his rebellion when God cast him into the pits of Hell. If you defy my authority, I can promise that you will envy him his fate.” She releases my brother and steps back.

       “Imogen—” 

       Maryse breaks off before correcting herself. “Inquisitor Herondale. They've agreed to a trial by the Sword. You can find out whether they're telling the truth.”

       “About their father and uncle?” the Inquisitor asks. “Yes. I know I can.” Imogen Herondale turns, stiff collar digging into her throat, to look at Maryse. “You know, Maryse, the Clave is not pleased with you. You and Robert are the guardians of the Institute. You're jumpstart lucky your record over the years has been relatively clean. Few demonic disturbances until recently, and everything's been quiet the past few days. No reports, even from Idris, so the Clave is feeling lenient.” **Villain monologue,** one side of my brain trills mockingly.

       “We have sometimes wondered if you'd actually rescinded your allegiance to Valentine,” Herondale continues. “As it is, he set a trap for you and you fell right into it. One might think you'd know better.” 

       “There was no trap,” Jace cuts in quietly. “Our father knew the Lightwoods would raise us if they thought we were Michael Wayland’s children. He didn't anticipate that the Clave would take Jessa and Jak for memory wipes.” He spits the last two words out like they taste bad, and the Inquisitor stares at my brother like he's a talking cockroach. Or shit on her boots.

      “Do you know about the cuckoo bird, Jonathan Morgenstern?”

      “The what?” Jace asks belligerently. I groan, tipping my head back to look at the ceiling of the library. **What the hell does my brother do with his life?**

       “The cuckoo bird,” the Inquisitor repeats. “You see, cuckoos are parasites. They lay their eggs in other birds’ nests. When the egg hatches, the baby cuckoo pushes the other baby birds out of the nest. The poor parent birds work themselves to death trying to find enough foot to feed the enormous cuckoo child who has murdered their babies and taken their place.” 

       “Enormous?” Jace asks indignantly. “Did you just call me fat?” I groan again, attempting to stifle the _glee_  that’s growing in the _parabatai_ bond. 

       “It was an analogy,” Imogen Herondale says impatiently. I grin evilly at her irritation. All of a sudden, Jace is redeemed.

       “I am not fat,” the blonde insists.

_Say you_ , I counter with the barest hints of a grin, causing the Inquisitor to spin around in surprise.

       “And I don’t want your pity, Imogen,” Maryse adds. “I refuse to believe the Clave will punish either myself or my husband for choosing to bring up the son of a dead friend.” Jace’s adoptive mother squares her shoulders. “It isn’t as if we didn’t tell them what we were doing.”

       “And I’ve never harmed any of the Lightwoods in any way,” Jace adds. “Jessa is fond of both Isabelle and Max, and even got her leg impaled with a Greater Demon’s talon to save Alec. I’ve worked had, and trained hard—say whatever you want about my father, but he made a Shadowhunter out of Jess, Jak and me. I’ve earned my place here, and so have my cousins. Even if they don't have the blood of the angels.”

       “Don’t defend your father to me,” the Inquisitor snaps. “I knew him. He was—is—the vilest of men.” I wrinkle my nose.

_V-I-L-E?_ I sign in askance. _Who says anymore? Word use in Shakespeare_ [a combination of the signs for ‘shake’ and ‘spear’] _play, right?_ The Inquisitor’s eyes narrow at me, gaze cold and frozen.

       “You are arrogant,” she says at last. “As well as intolerant. Did your uncle teach you to behave this way?” I shrug.

_Not to him,_ I sign carelessly.

       “Then you are aping him,” Imogen Herondale determines. “Valentine was one of the most arrogant and disrespectful men I’ve ever met. I suppose he brought you up to be just like him.”

       “Yes,” Jace cuts in, unable to help himself. “We were trained to be an evil masterminds from a young age. Pulling the wings off flies, poisoning the earth’s water supply—we were covering that stuff in kindergarten. I guess we’re all just lucky our father faked his own death before he got to the raping and pillaging part of our education, or no one would be safe.” I giggle as Maryse lets out an exasperated sound of horror.

       “Jace—”

       “And just like you father, you can’t keep your temper,” the Inquisitor interrupts. “The Lightwoods have coddled you and let your worst qualities run rampant. You may look like an angel, Jonathan Morgenstern, but I know exactly who you are.”

       “He’s just a boy,” Maryse pleads.

       “Valentine was just a boy once,” the Inquisitor replies sharply. “Now, before we do any digging around in that blonde head of yours to find out the truth, I suggest you cool your temper. And I know just where you can do that best.” My brother blinks in shock.

       “Are you sending me to my room?” he asks incredulously.

       “I’m sending you to the prisons of the Silent City,” the Inquisitor corrects with a cruel smile. “After a night there, I suspect you’ll be a great deal more cooperative.” Maryse gasps and I start forwards, a snarl of anger working it’s way up my throat. Jace grabs me by the arm quickly, holding me back. 

       “Imogen—you can’t,” Maryse insists.

       “I certainly can,” the Inquisitor counters. Her eyes gleam with something dangerous. “Do you have anything to say to me, Jonathan?” Imogen Herondale asks the blonde. My brother remains silent, releasing my arm. “Very wise, Jonathan. I see you’re already learning the best lesson the Silent City has to teach you.” The Inquisitor’s smile is like a grinning skull. “How to keep your mouth shut.” I snarl viciously, flicking out my cards and sending three flying.

       They each just barely graze the Inquisitor’s head, one nicking her ear. I smile grimly.

_Sorry interrupt, but I’m not Shadowhunter, just rogue. Don’t follow Law. Don't mess with family. Fuck you six ways Sunday._ With that, I storm out of the library and grab my other weapons and stuff at the Institute. Without looking back, I head home.


	7. Chapter 7

       I ring the buzzer to Magnus’ apartment with a yawn. There’s a crackle, and then somebody yawns into the intercom.

       “Hello?” Jak asks. “Alec? What're you doing up this late?” I grin.

       “Heya, big bro, but I think I kinda forgot my keys at Luke’s. Mind letting me in?” A sigh.

       “Jessa, how do you manage to forget your keys everywhere? And what do you mean you think?” I shrug before remembering that my twin can’t see me.

       “I dunno. Let me in, please.” A sigh, and then the intercom clicks off, a few moments before the door to Magnus’ apartment unlocks and opens to reveal Jak. I rush forwards and hug him, collapsing into him as he wraps his arms around me comfortingly.

       “Aw, Jess, was she that bad?” my silver-haired twin asks concernedly. I nod against his broad chest.

       “She’s sent Angel to the Silent City’s dungeons,” I choke out, a second away from breaking down and crying. Remembering that emotions like these are weaknesses, I quickly gather every last scrap of sadness, emotional instability and grief and shove them all in a dark, secluded place inside me. Pulling away from Jak, I groan, running my hands through my hair. “I need to see Magnus,” I mumble.

       “I think he’s either with Alec or out on a job,” my twin replies, looking around like a Shadowhunter could pop out of the microwave. I mumble an understanding answer.

       “I’m going to go to Luke’s,” I say distractedly, picking up my bag with weapons. “Get my keys. Don’t wait up.” Jak frowns, pulling me into a hug, the taller boy’s chin resting upon the crown of my head.

       “Be safe, come back in one piece,” he commands me. I smile despite myself.

       “Check your phone for anything from me. Love you.” With a quick peck on his cheek, I leave the apartment, heading to Luke’s place down by the Hudson.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

       I ring the doorbell with a yawn, wings shifting underneath my hoodie that I haven’t taken off since the talk with Maryse earlier today. The door opens quietly and I’m suddenly shoved inside, knife at my throat.

       “Have you molted yet?” Luke demands.

       "You want to know if I've molted?" I demand, wriggling in the werewolf’s tight grip.

       “Have you molted yet?” Luke repeats forcefully, knife digging deeper into my throat.

       "Love of—yes, damnit, I have," I grit out. "It was horrible. Feather everywhere. I couldn't even eat without getting a mouthful of feathers." I shudder. "Who would want to give anyone wings in the first place? I mean, they're great but did they think about molting?" I pause. "I'm going to shut up now." Luke removes the knife with a low chuckle.

       “You looking for a place to stay?” Luke asks with a glance at my weapons bag. I shake my head, then pause before seesawing my hand back and forth.

       “Kinda. I'm tired, but I only came here for my keys. I'm pretty sure they're here."  Luke smiles.

       “You know that you can stay whenever you want, right?” I smile slightly, not saying anything, before continuing into the living room, where I drop my bag behind the couch and look around. Feeling trapped in the small room, I bite my lip, eyes darting towards the stairs, then turn to Luke, who’d entered after me.

       "Is there an attic?" I ask. 

       “Go all the way up and there’s a loft,” Luke offers. “Why?”

       "I want my wings out, but I'm probably going to knock something over," I murmur. Luke gives me a wry grin in return.

       “True. You can stay as long as you want. Have a good sleep.” I smile, picking my bag up and jogging up the stairs until I reach the top floor. There's a ladder that leads up to the loft, the edge of it guarded by sturdy-looking railings. I climb up quickly, throwing the only window open and popping the screen out as I drop my bag beside the window, setting the screen down beside it. Shoving the window up, I wriggle out of the house and into the roof, pressing myself down against the plain black tiles that make up the roof. I let go of the window frame carefully and slide to the flat part of the roof. Once there, I stand up and take my hoodie off, shaking out the two black, feathered appendages attached to my back. 

       I tip my head back, stray bits of hair tickling my face in the light breeze. I'm glad that Luke doesn't have any close neighbors; a winged girl on the roof is a bit much for most people. I let myself enjoy the moment for a bit before frowning, lying down and blending into the black-tiled roof. 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

       I wake up with a start when the doorbell is rung from the porch below. In one swift, smooth move, I roll onto my stomach and swing the upper half of my body over the roof, wings tucked firmly against my back. There's a vaguely familiar head of brown hair down below, standing at the door.

       “This is Maia,” I hear Luke say. I frown, retreating to grab my hoodie and pulling it over my head. “She’s the one I was just telling you about,” I hear the alpha werewolf adds as I lower myself down from the roof and land behind Maia without a sound.

       “You must be Clary,” the female werewolf says, unaware of my presence and directing her greeting at a familiar redhead. **Huh. When did she get here? I wasn't asleep that long, right?**

       “Yeah, that's me,” Clary murmured. Her eyes drift over to me, widening in shock. Maia notices.

       “What?” she asks, turning. When she see me, the werewolf jumps in shock, eyes flaring a strange shade of blue. “You!” she exclaims, calming. She pauses. “That kid—the boy with the blonde hair who tore up the Hunters Moon—he's your cousin? And her brother?” She nods her head towards Clary, who's still stationed beside Luke in the doorway. I wince at the blunt wording.

       “Jace,” Clary corrects shortly.

       “Maia?” I hear a familiar mundane ask.

       “Yeah?” Maia replies, looking past the petite redhead. “You're Simon, right? I suck at names, but I remember you.” I roll my eyes as Clary and Simon come out farther, onto the porch. **Young love. Something I hope never to deal with ever again.**

       “Great,” Clary interrupts. “Now we're all friends.” I smirk, slipping past Clary, Luke and Simon to get to the kitchen, where I ransack the cupboard in order to grab a bagel. Foregoing the search for the cream cheese, I opt to eat it plain, breaking it in half expertly and take a large bite out of one. Wandering out of the kitchen, I head back up to the loft, rifling through my weapons bag until I find my extra deck of cards and the sheathed short swords that I knew that I'd brought along.

       Shoving the sheathed short swords into my belt, I tuck the extra deck of _adamas_ cards into the pocket of my hoodie. After that, I grab my phone and headphones, setting music on. I hesitate as I place a booted foot on the ladder that takes me back down to the floor. Clary, Luke and Simon have known each other for most of their lives. Maia and Luke are pack. I’m just the girl who showed up for her keys. I don’t know any of them that well. Should I leave? Should I just lurk up here until one of them notices? Dammit, I’m not good with people like Jak and Jace. 

       Biting my lip nervously, I set my other foot on the rung underneath the first. My stomach growls in agreement, and I roll my eyes at myself. **If they didn’t want you here, they’d tell you** , I remind myself sternly, making my way down the ladder and heading downstairs. However, since I have my headphones on, I don't have any warning when I come down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Clary and Luke are having what looks like a heart-to-heart. 

       Pushing my headphones off, I bite my lip as I watch the two anxiously, waiting for them to notice me and wallowing in my own social awkwardness. 

       “I hadn't heard it before myself,” Clary is saying, taking her hands away from her face to look at Luke. “Somebody’s girlfriend,” she murmurs. “Somebody's sister, somebody's daughter, somebody's cousin. All these things I never knew I was before, and I still don't really know what I am.”

       “Isn't that always the question,” Luke mutters. I hear the front door shut loudly, then footsteps approaching the kitchen. It's Simon, the mundane saving me from the awkwardness of admitting that I'd been listening in to some of their conversation.

       “Would it be okay if I crashed here tonight?” he asks the werewolf. “It's a little late to head home.” 

       “You know you're always welcome,” Luke replies, glancing at his watch. “I'm going to get some sleep. Have to be up at five a.m. to get to the hospital by six.” When the werewolf turns to leave the kitchen, he sees me hovering awkwardly in the doorway. “Oh, hello, Jessa. You can sleep in the loft if you'd like.” I nod as Luke brushes past me, before shifting onto my left leg, the other one aching.


	8. Chapter 8

       I'm perched on the edge of the railing of the loft when Clary storms upstairs, an expression of pure anger on her pretty face.

       “Why didn't you tell me?” she demands. I wince.

       “Explain later, Alec and Isabelle now, yeah?” I suggest. Clary scowls but hurries down the stairs again. I sigh, padding into the loft, shoving my boots onto my feet and pocketing my phone, I grab Jehoel and sheathe it; it’s attached to my back in a way that pins my wings down, preventing them from moving without hurting them. Wriggling out the window, I slide down to the flat part of the roof and jump from there, landing on the mowed grass just as Clary emerges from the house.

       “Let's go,” she commands, already striding down the street.

       “Let's,” I mutter, glaring at her back in annoyance as I adjust my hoodie.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

       We take a subway uptown and Clary can't seem to be able to sit still. She tried to call the Institute, but nobody had picked up. Her headphones dangle around her neck, her hands fiddling with them restlessly. I sigh in exasperation, pulling my headphones up over my ears and turning music on. As soon as the subway stops, Clary is the first one out, me right behind her. I keep up easily all the way through the Ninety-Sixth Street subway stop, but when we approach the corner where the Institute is, the redhead slows to a walk. 

       I was sweating; it had been warm down in the tunnels, and we'd run all the way to the Institute. I'd been wearing a thick hoodie, Jehoel a heavy weight against my wings. My cousin hesitates when we finally reach the front door of the church, but I stride ahead, practically kicking the doors open. The redhead gives me a startled look, but hurries inside after me. We slip into the elevator, and I press the up button impatiently. When we arrive at the Institute, I bundle Clary out the door, hurrying her down the hall, towards Isabelle’s room. Before I can knock, though, it swings open abruptly to reveal a barefoot Isabelle in a pair of jeans and a soft violet sweater. 

       The raven-haired beauty starts at the sight of Clary and me.

       “I thought I heard someone coming down the hall, but I didn’t think it would be you,” she says. “What are you doing here?”

       “She got your text,” I reply, gesturing towards my cousin.

       “You said the Inquisitor threw Jace in jail!” Clary cuts in.

       “Clary!” Isabelle whisper-yells in warning. She glances up and down the corridor before biting her lip. “I didn’t mean you should race down here right now.”

       “Isabelle!” I whisper-hiss indignantly. “Jail! I always knew Jace was an idiot, but he wasn’t this stupid!”

       “Yes, but—”

       Clary levels the Lightwood girl with a Ragnor-worthy glare, and Isabelle stands aside with a defeated sigh, gesturing for us to enter the room.

       “Look, you might as well come in,” she says dejectedly. The two of us oblige, and I take the strap that holds Jehoel to my back as well as my hoodie off the instant Isabelle slams her door shut behind us.

       “Hey, Clary,” a familiar voice says from the Lightwood girl’s unmade bed. I start, wings ruffling up as I notice my _parabatai_ sitting on Izzy’s bed. But then I notice Jak sitting beside him, a knife whirling around in a blur in his hand.

       “Fuck are you doing here?” I blurt out confusedly. Clary sits down on a stool in front of a messy vanity table.

       “I came over to see you,” my twin explains. “You didn’t tell me that you’d moved over to Luke’s.” I wince at the pointed look that the silver and black-haired boy levels at me. 

       “What is she doing here?” Alec cuts in, looking at Clary.

       “Isabelle texted me and told me what happened to Jace,” my cousin replies evenly. Alec’s gaze swaps to Izzy, this time with a reprimand in it.

       “Oh, come on, Alec,” his sister says. “I thought she should know. I didn’t know she’d come racing up here!” My redhead cousin looks slightly sick.

       “Of course I came!” she exclaims. “Is he all right? Why on earth did the Inquisitor throw him in prison?”

       “Most people want to,” I cut in softly, the barest traces of a sadistic smile crossing over my lips. “But all honesty, it was because utter idiot was mouthing off.”

       “And it’s not prison exactly.” Alec chips in, pulling one of Izzy’s numerous throw pillows over his lap, picking at the fringe idly. “He’s in the Silent City.”

       “In the Silent City?” Clary asks, confused. “Why?”

       “There are cells under the Silent City,” I explain, waving my hand with a slight grimace, voice steady despite my gelatin insides. This is the first time I’ve spoken to a group this large. “They keep criminals there sometimes before deporting them to Idris to stand trial before the Council. People who’ve done real bad things. Murderers, renegade vampires—they don’t get them that often, since Raphael and his clan usually rip them into itty-bitty bits before they can get to them—Shadowhunters who break the Accords, people like them. That’s where Jona—Jace is now.”

       “Locked up with a bunch of murderers?” Clary is on her feet now, voice rising with her disbelief. “What’s wrong with you people? Why aren’t you more upset?” Alec and Isabelle exchange another look, and I eyeball Jak as a faint grimace passes over my otherwise marble-like face.

       “It’s just for the night,” Izzy finally says. “And there isn’t anyone else down there with him. We asked.”

       “But why?” my cousin persists. “What did Jace really do?” I shake my head.

       “Told you. Idiot mouthed off.” I hesitate for the barest second before continuing. “And I may have thrown a card at her head.” Isabelle perches on the edge of the vanity table, and I eye the things rickety legs with trepidation.

       “It’s unbelievable,” the Lightwood girl says, saying the words that are swimming around in everyone’s heads out loud.

       “Then the Inquisitor must be insane,” Clary replies determinedly.

       “She’s not, actually,” Alec says. “If Jace were in your mundane army, do you think he’d be allowed to mouth off to his superiors? Absolutely not.”

       “Well, not during a war,” my cousin points out. “But Jace isn’t a soldier.” I snort, but Jak’s the one to speak, tone low and even, not a trace of emotion in his tone.

       “We’re all soldiers, Jonath— _Jace_  as much as the rest of us. There’s a hierarchy of command and the Inquisitor is near the top. Jace is near the bottom.”

       “Essentially, he should've treated her with more respect,” Alec cuts in. He looks at me. “Both of you should have.” I nod in acquiescence.

       “If you agree that he ought to be in jail, why did you ask us to come here?” Clary demands, cheeks flushed, voice loud. “Just to get us to agree with you? I don’t see the point. What do you want me to do?”

       “Never said he should be in jail,” I point out softly, corner of my mouth twitching into a half-smile. “Just that he shouldn’t’ve talked back.”

       “Besides,” Isabelle adds in a small voice. “I thought that maybe you could help.”

       “Help?” Clary asks, steam gone and replaced by hope. “How?”

       “I told you before,” Alec says. I wonder when this ‘before’ was. “Half the time it seems like Jace is trying to get himself killed. He has to learn that he has to learn to look out for himself, and that includes cooperating with the Inquisitor.”

       “And you seem to think I can help you make him do that?” Clary guesses dubiously, disbelief coating her words like butter.

       “I'm not sure anyone can make Jace do anything,” Isabelle puts in wryly. “But I think you can remind him that he has something to live for.” Alec looks down at the pillow in his lap and gives it a yank to the fringe. A jolt of _guilt, hope, love_ , flickers through me and I shut my eyes in an attempt to orient myself as the soft sound of beads pattering down on the blanket fills my ears. I open my eyes again. Isabelle frowns.

       “Alec, don't.”

       “Can we go to the Silent City and see him?” Clary asks.

       “Will you tell him to cooperate with the Inquisitor?” Alec demands. A jolt of _guilt, love, hope, anger_ , and I bite my lip. Clary considers the request for a moment.

       “I want to hear what he has to say first.” My _parabatai_ drops the pillow onto the bed and stands with a frown. Before he can say anything, though, there's a light knock on the door. I snatch my hoodie from the floor and tug it over my head, wings pressing tightly against my back, just as Izzy stands to open the door. It's Max, wearing jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, a book in one hand.

       “Max,” his older sister says with surprise. “I thought you were asleep.”

       “I was in the weapons room,” Max replies. “But there were noises coming from the library. I think someone might be trying to contact the Institute.” He peers around Isabelle, catching sight of both Jak and Clary. “Who’re they?”

       “That's Clary,” Alec replies. “She’s Jace’s sister, Jessa’s cousin. And this is Jak, Jessa’s twin and Jace’s cousin.” Max’s eyes round and widen into moons.

       “I thought Jace didn’t have any family.”

       “That’s what we all thought,” Jak mutters morbidly. “Then the three of us came along and whoop de doo, the angel has a family.” Alec frowns. 

       “I’d better get to the library.”

       “We’ll both go,” Izzy says firmly, scooping up her whip and sliding the handle through her belt. I pick up Jehoel, and the knife in Jak’s hand disappears. “Maybe something’s happened.”

       “Where are your parents?” Clary asks curiously.

       “They got called out a few hours ago,” Alec explains. “A fey was murdered in Central Park. The Inquisitor went with them.”

       “You didn’t want to go?” Clary asks confusedly.

       “We weren’t invited,” Isabelle corrects, looping her two braids up on top of her head and impaling the elegant coil of hair with a small glass dagger. “Look after Max, will you? We’ll be right back.”

       “But—”

       The Lightwood siblings, as well as my twin, are out the door before my cousin can get any farther than that. The moment the door shuts, Clary slumps down on the bed and regards Max with thinly veiled apprehension. The nine-year-old returns her stare with one of his own. It’s not a shy one, more thoughtfully contained curiosity. His gaze flickers to me.

       “How old are you?” he asks.

       “Both of us?” Clary asks. The boy nods. “How old do we look?”

       “You look fourteen,” Max says. “She looks thirteen.”

       “I’m sixteen, but people always think I’m younger than I am because I’m so short,” my cousin says. I slip my stele out from the pocket of my hoodie, pulling my shirt and the hoodie up in order to sketch a quick speak in tongues rune in the usual spot. 

        _1-5,_ I sign. _Turn 1-6 December. Think young because short._ The youngest Lightwood nods sagely.

       “Me too,” he says. “I’m nine but people always think I’m seven.”

       “You look nine to me,” Clary says. Her eyes flicker down to the book clutched in Max’s hands. “What’s that you’re holding?” she asks, leaning forwards slightly. “Is it a book?” The nine-year-old holds it up to show my redhead cousin, and she laughs. “Naruto,” she says. “I didn’t know you liked manga. Where did you get that?”

       “In the airport,” Max replies, bits of excitement creeping into his voice. “I like the pictures but I can’t figure out how to read it.”

       “Here, give it to me,” Clary says, holding out a hand. The youngest Lightwood places the book in my cousins hands, and she moves to sit next to him on the bed. I slink over to the abandoned vanity table, perching on the stool. I watch as the redhead flips the book open, showing him the pages. “You read it backwards,” she explains, “right to left instead of left to right, And you read each page clockwise. Do you know what that means?”

       “Of course,” Max replies, slightly indignant. He takes the book back, flipping to the last page. “This one is number nine,” he says. “I think I should get the other ones before I read it.”

       “That’s a good idea,” Clary says, smiling “Maybe you can get someone to take you to Midtown Comics or Forbidden Planet.” I perk up at the mention of my two favorite comic book stores, eyes darting between Max and Clary. The Lightwood boy looks a bit confused at the words Forbidden Planet, but before either of us can explain, the door bursts open.


	9. Chapter 9

       Isabelle bursts into the room, clearly out of breath.

       “It was someone trying to contact the Institute,” she says, before either of even open our mouths. “One of the Silent Brothers. Something’s happened in the Bone City.” I shoot up, sweeping Jak’s weapons off of the bed and into my hands.

       “What kind of something?” Max asks curiously.

       “I don’t know,” Izzy replies. “I’ve never heard of the Silent Brothers asking for help before.” The black-haired beauty turns to Max, clearly distressed. “Max, go to your room and stay there, okay?” The youngest Lightwood sets his jaw stubbornly, reminding me of his oldest brother.

       “Are you and Alec going out?”

       “Yes,” his sister replies, snatching a knife off of the vanity table.

       “To the Silent City?”

       “Max—”

       “I want to come,” the kid insists. Izzy produces a dagger out of seemingly nowhere, shoving it into her belt as she shakes her head no.

       “Absolutely not. You’re too young.”

       “You’re not eighteen either!” Isabelle turns to Clary, anxiety and desperation written across her face.

       “Clary, Jessa, come here for a second, please.” We both get up, and Izzy grasps us by the arms, yanking us out of the room. As soon as we're out, she slams the door shut. I hear a thump as Max throws himself against the polished oak.

       “Damn it,” the Lightwood girl says, holding the knob. “Can you grab my stele for me, please? It's in my pocket—” 

       I ignore her, pressing my own stele into her hand instead. With a few swift strokes, Izzy draws a locking rune onto the wooden surface of the door. I can still hear Max’s protests from the other side when Izzy steps away with a grimace, handing me my stele. She then thumps on the door with one fist.

       “Max, there's some Power Bars in the nightstand drawer if you get hungry. We'll be back as soon as we can.” There's one last outraged yell from behind the door before Izzy turns, hurrying back down the hallway.

       “What did the message say?” Clary asks. “Just that there was trouble?”

       “That there was an attack,” Isabelle corrects tersely. “That's it.” 

       Alec is waiting for the three of us outside of the library, Jak beside him. They're both wearing black leather Shadowhunters armor over their clothes, gauntlets protecting their arms. Seraph blades are strapped to the eldest Lightwood’s waist, while Jak has slung Zadkiel over his back. I toss my twin a bundle of miscellaneous weapons, and he tosses me my box of matches and firecrackers in return.

       “Are you ready?” Alec asks his sister as I shove the explosives into my pockets. “Is Max taken care of?”

       “He's fine.” She holds out her arms. “Mark me.” Alec obliges, but glances over at Clary.

       “You should probably head home,” he says. “You don't want to be here by yourself when the Inquisitor gets back.” I hold an arm out to Jak, using the other to Mark Alec. 

       “I want to go with you,” my cousin insists. **Now is not the time, princess** , I think grimly, yanking my hair into a tighter bun. Izzy takes one of her hands back from Alec, blowing on the skin.

       “You sound like Max.”

       “Max is nine,” Clary says stubbornly, sounding exactly like Max. “I'm the same age as you.”

       “But you haven't got any training,” Alec counters. “You'll just be a liability.”

       “No, she won't,” Jak says suddenly. He's halfway twisted, Marking his back by himself. I take the stele from his hands, drawing a visible rune on the back of his neck. Of course, it has the opposite effect and now Jak is glamoured to those without the Sight. I add a waterproof (fireproof, since it's me drawing it) rune, just in case.

       “Have either of you ever been inside the Silent City?” Jak continues. I make a face at him. “She has. She'll know how to get in, and how to get around.” Our cousin looks a bit taken aback at being defended by Jak, but takes it in stride, nodding along as Alec straightens, putting his stele away.

       “I don't think—” 

       “He has a point, actually,” Isabelle cuts in. “I think she should come if she wants.” Alec practically gapes at her.

       “Last time we faced a demon, she just cowered and screamed,” he points out. Seeing Clary’s glare, he shoots her an apologetic glance. “I'm sorry, but it's true.”

       “She needs a chance to learn,” I say quietly. Everyone stops and stares. Even if I do talk, I don't often use a lot of words. “Sometimes you don't have to search out danger. Sometimes danger finds you. And if we do run into anything bad, she can hide in a corner and do absolutely nothing to get in our way.” 

       “You can't lock me up like you did Max,” Clary finally says, breaking the stunned spell over the others. “I'm not a child. And I know where the Bone City is. I can find my way there without you.” Jak and I both glance at each other. I reach across the short distance separating us, gripping his hand tightly. 

       I wasn't thrilled that I was going to be back in the Silent City. The memory wipe thing may have been cleaned up, but that didn't mean that I was just going to automatically trust the Clave and the Silent Brothers. Alec has turned away, shaking his head and muttering something about girls. I step on his foot as Izzy holds out a hand to Clary.

       “Give me your stele,” she commands. “It's time you got some Marks.” 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

       Clary, Isabelle and Alec head downtown in a black gypsy cab. Jak and I both opt out, and we use our own unique forms of transportation. I fly, wings blending into the black night sky. Jak uses a speed rune to run ahead of the cab while I track both of them from the air. In the end, we don't wait for the others, choosing to go ahead some. Jak skids to a halt inside the graveyard, right in front of a statue of Raziel, the angels eyes shut tight.

       I drift out of the sky, and when my feet touch the damp grass I let out a shaky sigh. We both stand there, frozen for a moment. This is the first time that we've been anywhere near this area in seven years. It takes a gust of wind to pull me out of my stupor, and I steel myself as I begin to walk up to the statue of Raziel.

       Right foot. Left foot. Right. Left. Right. Left. Stop. I look up at the statue as I draw a small knife from my sleeve, pressing it into the palm of my hand. Blood drips through my fingers, spattering onto the statue. As much as I hate to risk any of the nerves there, it’s the easiest place to draw blood from. Raziel’s eyelids fly open, and a second later the grass beneath me begins to slip. I roll out of the way carefully, coming up in a crouch, bloody hand planted against the grass.

       A crooked black line ripples, curving away from the statue, and eventually it opens up into a black hole. I breathe out another shuddering sigh, wiping my hand against the grass. Producing bandages out of my pocket, I wrap them around the wound hastily.

       The others haven't arrived yet, so I take the time to pull my hoodie back on. I don't want anyone walking past to see the feathery black appendages attached to my back, be they Downworlders or Nephilim. Jak and I wait for a few more minutes, and the sound of footsteps alert us to the others’ arrival. I take a deep breath, unsheathing Jehoel silently.

       “Ready?” Alec asks. I nod grimly, and everyone advances into the gaping cavity in the ground.

       Reaching into my back pocket. I withdraw a filched witchlight and hand it to the person nearest to me, which happens to be Jak. My twin takes it, then grunts in frustration as he smacks it against the palm of his hand. I don’t know why, but witchlights don’t really like either of us, choosing to flicker like a broken flashlight rather than work like it’s supposed to. In the end, the witchlight is passed on to Alec as we near the base of the stairs.

       “Something’s wrong,” Clary murmurs. I nod in agreement, because an unsettling feeling has sunk into my bones, putting me on edge and making me feel like the shadows could come alive at any moment. When we arrive at the Silent City, Alec looks down the rows solemnly.

       “I never thought I would enter the Silent City,” he admits quietly. “Not even in death.”

       “I wouldn’t feel so bad about it,” Jak mutters.

       “Brother Jeremiah told me what they do to your dead,” my cousin agrees. “They burn them up and use most of the ashes to make the City’s marble.”

       “So I could potentially be standing on great-great-great grandpa Kevin?” I ask dryly. “I ought to be stomping at this point. He was a real ass.”

       “It’s considered an honor.” Isabelle interjects. “Besides, it’s not like mundies don’t burn your dead.”

       “Yeah, but they don’t make them into marble,” I counter.

       “Arathiel,” Alec murmurs, halting our argument and handing Clary the withlight. The seraph blade in my _parabatai’s_ hand lights up, casting additional light across another staircase in front of us, before our small group descends into even darker gloom. The witchlight pulses in Alec’s hand as the smell of rotting fruit grows stronger the closer we get to the end of the staircase. And let me tell you mate, rotten fruit does not smell like sunshine and daisies. 

       At the end of the seemingly endless steps (spoiler alert: they’re not endless), we find ourselves in another long tunnel. We follow this one until it opens into a pavilion surrounded by spires of carved bone. Silver stars are inlaid on the floor, sprinkled like precious metal confetti. The entire room bears the sharp tang of blood, and in the center of the pavilion is a black table, dark liquid pooling on its slick surface and trickling across the floor in rivulets. 

       There’s a bracket behind the table, presumably for the Mortal Sword, but it’s empty. The Sword is gone, in its place a great fan of scarlet. I know better than to assume that it’s dye. Or paint. 

       “Is that blood?” Izzy whispers, looking stunned.

       “Looks like it,” Jak replies, scanning the room.

       “What could have happened?” the Lightwood girl murmurs. “The Silent Brothers—I thought they were indestructible…” Her voice trails off as Clary turns, the witchlight in her hand casting strange shadows. One is more solid, more strange, than the others. And what I see almost makes me clap my hands to my mouth. It takes all my willpower to restrain myself. Impaled on one of the spires is the dead body of a Silent Brother.

       The Brother’s hands are ribboned in blood, dangling just above the marble floor. His neck is broken, and blood has pooled beneath him, clotted and black in the blue light of the witchlight in Clary’s hands.


	10. Chapter 10

       Izzy gasps, and in the faint light of the witchlight, I can tell that Clary looks like she wants to barf. 

       “Alec. Do you see—”

       “I see,” Alec says grimly, cutting his sister off. “And I’ve seen worse. It’s Jace I’m worried about.” The second-eldest Lightwood appears to compose herself, even if the tense worry in the room is practically suffocating me, going over to the table and skimming the surface of it with her fingers.

       “This blood is almost fresh,” she reports. “Whatever happened, it happened not long ago.” My _parabatai_ moves over to the Brother’s corpse, eyes tracking smeared marks that lead away from the blood on the floor.

       “Footprints,” Jak murmurs, slipping up to Alec’s side.

       “Someone running,” the ravenette agrees. My _parabatai_ stands abruptly, gesturing with a hand for the rest of us to follow him. We do, but Izzy does pause to wipe her bloody hands on the soft leather of her leg guards. The five of us follow the path made by the footprints out of the pavilion and then down a narrow tunnel which seems to end in blackness. Finally, Alec stops and looks around, but Clary pushes past him impatiently, the witchlight fighting the darkness back, a path of silvery-white light appearing before us.

       I can see a pair of double doors at the end of the hall, hanging off of their hinges. I take off like a shot, slipping past my _parabatai_ and cousin, Jak at my heels. Even as I run, though, the feeling of unease doesn’t relent, making my wings feel hot and restless underneath the rough fabric of my jacket. Still moving, I strip the article of fabric off, tying it tightly around my waist as I burst through the doors, Jehoel held high. The room beyond the doors is a large stone room with rows of metal bars sunk deep into the ground to divide the entire area in half.

       I pause at the sight of slumped shape on the other side of the bars, though I can’t quite make it out. But what really makes me stop is the crumpled form outside the cell. It’s a body. The body of an eerily-familiar Silent Brother. Brother Jeremiah. The others hurry into the room, but Clary doesn’t hesitate before pushing past everyone else and making her way to the door of the cell. I see her make a conscious effort to avoid looking at the lifeless body. 

       I approach behind her, booted feet making to noise against the floor. I don’t move an inch as my eyes sweep across the cell, inspecting it. The bars are spaced close together, hinged on one side with no visible lock or knob. I hear Alec say my cousin’s name, but neither of us pay attention to him. Clary is intent on the door while I observe her. The redhead’s mouth suddenly thins into a determined line. Holding the witchlight in one hand, my cousin grabs for something with her other. From the other side of the bars comes a noise, a sort of muffled gasp of whimper.

       I’m not sure what it was really, but I do know the source: Jace. My eyes widen, and I hiss in a sharp breath. All of a sudden, the bars of the cell are blown out of the way. I don’t stop to think about the source, just jump over the leftover bars and into the cell, running across the distance separating me from my brother and then coming to a skidding stop before I drop to my knees, not minding the jolt of pain from my wings, nor the slightly more insistent one from my leg. 

       Witchlight fills the room now, lighting it up better than any normal light bulb. Looking down, all I can see of my brother is his bright hair, an outstretched hand and a loose manacle lying a little bit away. His wrist is bare and bloody, the skin marked with ugly bruises. Leaning over, I turn the blonde over gently as Clary hurries to my side. Jace’s eyes are closed, but I can see darting movement under his eyelids.

       There’s another bruise on his cheek, which stands out prominently against his white skin. A vein pulses at his throat. At that revelation, I crumble. I would’ve collapsed onto Jace if Jak hadn’t arrived in time, pulling my back and holding me in his arms. Silent, overwhelming sobs rake my body. My twin’s arms wrap around me carefully, avoiding my wings.

       I’m not quite sure what I’m crying about. If it’s because of what happened to Jace, or if it’s because this is what could’ve happened to a Jak or me if we hadn’t escaped, I don’t know. But there’s also the fact that I feel so, so, so guilty for not being there’s to take the pain away from Jace, even if I know, rationally, that I never could have, I still feel like I should have. It’s the worst feeling in the world, this helplessness. Because there’s nothing you can do to make it go away. 

       “What’s going on?” I hear Alec demand. The sound of heels against stone alerts me to the presence of Isabelle. I pull away from Jak, wiping my eyes hastily. With a start, I realize that Jace’s eyes are open now.

       “Are you alright?” my raven-haired _parabatai_ demands of my blonde one. “What happened? Can you remember?”

       “One question at a time, Alec,” Jace croaks out. “My head already feels like it’s going to split open.”

       “Who did this to you?” Isabelle asks regardless, sounding bewildered and furious at the same time. Jace makes to shake his head but winces before stilling.

       “No one did anything to me,” he says. “I did it to myself trying to get the manacles off.”

       “Here,” Clary says. But Alec says it at the same time. _Anger, jealousy, mine, go away._ I stand abruptly, brushing past the Lightwood’s and going over to Brother Jeremiah’s corpse, not wanting to be there for that argument. As my cousin and my _parabatai_ fight it out, I kneel next to the body and pull the Brother’s hood up to cover his face. As I do, though, I linger on his fearful, contorted face. Shaking my head mentally, I pull the hood down before arranging his limbs in a sleeping position. Standing up, I step back as the other come out of the cell, stopping just behind me. 

       “I’ve never seen a Silent Brother afraid,” Alec says softly. “I didn’t think it was possible for them to feel fear.”

       “Everyone feels fear,” Jace replies. He sounds distant, like after I’d first seen him again at Pandemonium. Closing my eyes, I tug my hoodie off of my waist, slipping it over my head as Alec moves. The raven-haired teen leads the way back through the dark corridors, up the narrow steps and into the pavilion that I now remember is called the Pavilion of Speaking Stars. Jace leans on our _parabatai_ as he looks around with a sort of horror and confusion.

       “Jace,” Clary murmurs. “Don’t look.” I resist the urge to snort. If the things that Alec had seen were worse than this, what would Jace have seen? Well. I know the answer to that question. I just don’t want to answer it. 

       “Something feels wrong—“

       “Everything’s wrong,” I murmur quietly, cutting off the blonde. I rub my eyes tiredly, sheathing Jehoel before drawing an entire deck of _adamas_ cards. Alec tilts his head towards the arches that lead away from the pavilion.

       “That’s the fastest way out of here,” he says quietly. “Let's go.” There’s silence as we make our way back through the Bone City. When we reach the stairs that lead out of the City, everyone releases a silent sigh of relief. However, when we reach the last flight of steps, light stabs at my eyes, making me hiss in discomfort and raise a hand to block it out. Fuck, Raph must be rubbing off on me. I glance around, and the others look as confused as I feel.

       “The sun couldn't have risen yet—could it?” Isabelle mutters. “How long were we down here?” Alec checks his watch.

       “Not that long.” Jace mutters something that I barely catch. I pale.

       “What did you say?” Clary asks. 

       “Witchlight,” I reply in Jace's place. That single word has everyone hurrying up, though I hook my arm under Jace’s right arm, assisting Alec in half-carrying our _parabatai_ up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, Izzy stops abruptly. Clary calls out, but the black-haired beauty doesn’t respond. My cousin picks up her pace a bit, and she’s soon standing beside the Lightwood, staring at whatever is up there. When Alec, Jace, Jak and I reach the top, we see what made the others stop. The cemetery is full of Shadowhunters—twenty, maybe even thirty, all of them in standard hunting equipment, inked with Marks and all holding blazing witchlight stones. 

       At the front of the group stands Maryse, decked out in black Shadowhunters armor and cloak, hood down. Behind her are dozens of strangers, both men and women. One of them, a handsome ebony-skinned man, turns to stare at Clary, Isabelle, Jace, Alec, Jak and me.

       “By the Angel,” he says. “Maryse—there was already someone down there.” I flinch at the attention that’s suddenly on me, on my friends and family. Izzy reaches out blindly, placing a comforting hand on my hip. At Isabelle’s movement, her mother’s eyes narrow and her lips thin into a tight line.

       “I know, Malik,” she finally says. “These are my children and their cousins.” A muttering gasp ripples through the crowd, and several people throw their hoods back. Jace moves away from his _parabatai_ , standing on wobbly legs, hands shoved in his pockets. I note that most of the bruises around his wrist have faded, probably aided by an iratze.

       “By the Angel.” The Lightwood’s mother’s gaze sweeps over Alec, Jace and Isabelle, skins over Clary and hardens as she sets eyes on Jak and me. Isabelle twists her whip nervously, Alec fidgets with his cell phone, though I don’t remember him ever getting it out. Jak’s gloved hands make a match dance over the leather surface of the gloves as I resist the urge to flick my cards into the ground, one after the other.

       “What are you doing here, Alec?” his mother asks. “Isabelle? There was a distress call from the Silent City—“

        _Answered_ , I sign with shaky hands. I’m only doing this because I need to move my hands. _No person at Institute, couldn’t call. Came._

       “What—“

        _No matter_ , I sign, cutting Maryse off quickly. _Silent Brother dead. All. Murder._ There’s no sound from the crowd this time, no shocked murmur. They’re frozen in place by their collective shock. It’s only broken by Maryse.

       “Dead?” she repeats. “What do you mean, they’re dead?”

       “I think it’s quite clear what he means,” the Inquisitor remarks, appearing at the Lightwood’s mother’s side. “They’re all dead?” the severe-looking woman directs at me. “You found no one alive in the City?” I shake my head.

        _No see._

       “That you saw,” the Inquisitor reiterates. She turns to Maryse. “There may yet be survivors. I would send your people into the City for a thorough check.” I wouldn’t have thought that Maryse’s lips could’ve gotten tighter, but they did.

       “Very well.” She turns to Malik, speaking to him in a low voice. Almost immediately, the ebony-skinned man leads the Shadowhunters past my small group, into the entrance of the Bone City. Maryse breaks the lingering silence. “Why would anyone murder the Silent Brothers?” she asks. “They’re not warriors, they don’t carry battle Marks—“

       “Don’t be naive, Maryse,” the Inquisitor cuts in. “This was no random attack. The Silent Brothers may not be warriors, but they are primarily guardians, and very good at their jobs. Not to mention hard to kill. Someone wanted something from the Bone City And was willing to kill the Silent Brothers to get it. This was premeditated.”

       “What makes you so sure?” Maryse presses.

       “That wild goose chase that called us all out to Central Park? The dead fey child?”

       “I wouldn’t call that a wild goose chase,” the younger woman objects. “The fey child was drained of blood, like the warlock. These killings could cause serious trouble between the Night Children and other Downworlders—“

       “Distractions,” the Inquisitor replies dismissively. “He wanted us gone from the Institute so that no one would respond to the Brothers when they called for aid. Ingenious, really. But then he always was ingenious.”

       “Valentine,” Jace suddenly says. “Valentine took the Mortal Sword. That’s why he killed the Silent Brothers.” Silence falls over the remaining few, and a thin smile curves on the Inquisitor’s face. Alec turns to stare at our _parabatai_ as I curse mentally, slamming a booted foot on the frosted ground in order to fight the numbness that’s creeping into it. I want to punch something, tear it apart just like my emotions are to me. But I can’t lose face in front of the Inquisitor, especially not now. 

       “Valentine? But you didn’t say he was here.”

       “Nobody asked,” is all Jace says.

       “He couldn’t have killed the Brothers,” the raven-haired boy insists. “They were torn apart. No one person could have done all that.”

       “He probably had demonic help,” the Inquisitor cuts in. “He’s used demons to aid him before. And with the protection of the Cup on him, he could summon some very dangerous creatures. More dangerous than Raveners,” she adds with a curled lip. “Or the pathetic Forsaken.”

       “I don’t know about that,” Jace says, face pale, feverish spots of red on his cheekbones. “But it was Valentine. I saw him. In fact, he had the Sword with him when he came down to the cells and taunted me through the bars. It was like a bad movie, except he didn’t actually twirl his mustache.” I take in a heaving gulp of cold air, resisting the urge to shake my head in order to clear it of the lurking fear that swelling in my gut.

       “So you’re saying that Valentine told you all this? He told you he killed the Silent Brothers because he wanted the Angel’s Sword?” the Inquisitor demands. I shift nervously.

       “What else did he tell you?” Maryse asks quickly. “Did he tell you where he was going? What he plans to do with the two Mortal Instruments?” The blonde shakes his golden head. The Inquisitor moves towards him, like a wolf stalking its prey, coat swirling around her like smoke. Her mouth is drawn into a hard, unforgiving line.

       “I don’t believe you.” Jace looks back at her passively.

       “I didn’t think you would.”

       “I doubt the Clave will believe you either,” the Inquisitor continues. I hiss, drawing a short sword, pointing the tip at the ground. It’s not an outright threat, but it’s a warning at the very least. Don’t fuck with my family, bitch. Alec steps forwards.

       “Jace isn’t a liar—“

       “Use your brain, Alexander,” the Inquisitor interrupts, eyes still glued on Jace. “Leave aside your own loyalty to your friend for a moment. What’s the likelihood that Valentine stopped by his son’s cell for a paternal chat about the Soul-Sword, and didn’t mention what he planned to do with it, or even where he was going?”

       “S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse,” Jace begins, “a persona che mai tornasse al mondo…”

       “Dante,” the Inquisitor finishes, looking dryly amused. It doesn’t do anything for my opinion of her. “The Inferno. You’re not in hell yet, Jonathan Morgenstern, though if you insist on lying to the Clave, you’ll wish you were.” She turns back to the others, though her piercing gaze seems to linger on me. “And doesn’t it seem odd to anyone that the Soul-Sword should disappear the night before Jonathan Morgenstern is supposed to stand trial by its blade—and that his father is the one who took it?”

       Jace looks genuinely shocked at that, lips parting slightly in surprise.

       “My father didn’t take the Sword for me,” he protests. “He took it for him. I doubt he even knew about the trial.” I try and control the harsh, rattling breaths that make my chest hurt, and the fact that my wings are aching to burst out and take me away from this whole mess. I heard New Zealand was nice this time of year. Actually, it’s nice pretty much year-round. 

       “How awfully convenient for you, regardless,” the Inquisitor says. “And for him. He won’t have to worry about you spilling his secrets.”

       “Yeah,” Jace agrees. I can hear the sarcasm coating his voice like a thick layer of paint. “He’s terrified I’ll tell everyone that he’s always really wanted to be a ballerina.” The Inquisitor can only stare. I roll my eyes up to the heavens, troubles temporarily forgotten, because even if the woman was the Inquisitor, she should still know what sarcasm is. 

       “I don’t know any of my father’s secrets,” Jace says to clear things up. “Jak and Jess don’t either. He never told us anything.” Jak and I both nod in agreement, though my movements feel robotic and hollow. The Inquisitor regards the three of us with a sort of detached disgust.

       “If your father didn’t take the Sword to protect you, then why did he take it?” I raise an eyebrow.

        _Mortal Instrument_ , I sign aggressively. _Power. Like Cup. Instructor_  [Valentine’s sign name; sue me: he was my only elder family figure I had in life for a long, long time. He was the first example I had of someone who cared even slightly.]  _like power, if hadn't noticed. Small pointer._

       “The Cup has an immediate use,” the Inquisitor replies calmly. “He can use it to make an army. The Sword is used in trials. I can’t see how that would interest him.”

        _Off-balance Clave_ , I suggest immediately. _Morale. Question prisoner. Maybe—_

       I’m cut off, because at that moment Jace sits down on the grass, face pale and looking like he’s about to be sick. Alec goes to help him, but Jace shakes his head as he waves our _parabatai_ away.

       “Leave me alone,” my brother insists. “I’m fine.” I slap him upside the head as I kneel down next to him, communicating my point perfectly. Clary joins us on the grass, looking at Jace in concern.

       “Something's wrong with him,” the redhead says. “Something serious.”

       “He probably needs a healing rune,” the Inquisitor says, looking exquisitely annoyed at Jace and all he stands for. “An iratze or—“

        _Fuck you_ , I sign abruptly, shooting to my feet. _Try, hag. No work. Demon magic._

       “Like demon’s poison?” Maryse asks, moving to go to Jace. The Inquisitor holds out a hand, stopping the Lightwood in her tracks.

       “He ought to be in the Silent City’s cells right now,” the older woman says severely. Alec stands now, one hand encircling my wrist tightly, holding me back.

       “You can’t say that,” he says sharply. “Look at him!” The raven-haired boy gestures at our _parabatai_ , the blonde now slumped back on the grass, eyes closed. “He can’t even stand up,” Alec continues. “He needs doctors, he needs—“

       “The Silent Brothers are dead,” the Inquisitor says, steamrolling over Alec.

       “No,” my _parabatai_ says, voice tight. “I thought he could go to Magnus.” Isabelle lets out a weird sound, and a wicked smile forms on my face. The Inquisitor looks at Alec blankly.

       “Magnus?”

        _Warlock_ , I supply, grinning. _High Warlock of Brooklyn._


	11. Chapter 11

       “You mean Magnus Bane,” Maryse says. “He has a reputation—“

       “He healed me after I fought a Greater Demon,” Alec interjects. “The Silent Brothers couldn’t do anything, but Magnus… “

       “It’s ridiculous,” the Inquisitor insists. “What you want is to help Jonathan escape." I roll my eyes.

        _Not well. Wonderful thing humans use see. Called eyes. Use._

       “Magnus would never let that happen,” my raven-haired _parabatai_ protests. “He’s not interested in crossing the Clave.”

       “And how would he propose preventing it?” the Inquisitor asks, voice dripping acidic sarcasm. “Jonathan is a Shadowhunter, we’re not so easy to keep under lock and key.”

       “Maybe you should ask him,” Alec suggests. A shark-like smile from the Inquisitor.

       “By all means. Where is he?” Alec glances down at his phone, then back up at the Inquisitor.

       “He’s here,” my _parabatai_ replies confidently. He raises his voice. “Magnus! Magnus, come on out.” The Inquisitor’s eyebrows make a break for the heavens when Magnus strides through the gates of the cemetery. By now, Alec, Jak and me have already become used to the High Warlock’s flamboyant outfit choices, so we don’t bat an eyelash. I’m not sure about the others, though. 

       My adoptive warlock dad is wearing tight black leather pants with a buckle in the shape of a jeweled M, a cobalt-blue Prussian military jacket open over a white lace shirt and decked head to toe with layers of glitter. I grin, lifting my hands to sign a quick message at my dad.

        _A-N-E-U-R-Y-S-M_ , I sign gleefully, pointing at the Inquisitor with a smile. Jak rolls his eyes.

       “Jace is half-dead,” my twin says in a monotone. “Would you mind fixing him?” Our adoptive dad eyes our blonde cousin, prone on the grass.

       “Is he dead?” he inquires. “He looks dead.”

        _Half,_ I correct.

       “Have you checked?” Magnus continues, ignoring me. “I could kick him if you want.” He moves towards Jace,

       “Stop that,” the Inquisitor snaps. “He’s not dead, but he’s injured,” the Wicked Witch adds, albeit grudgingly. “Your medical skills are required. Jonathan needs to be well enough for the interrogation.”

       “Fine, but it’ll cost you,” Magnus says.

       “I’ll pay it,” Maryse replies instantly. Jak shakes his head.

       “We’ll pay,” he corrects. “Whatever it takes so that he wakes up. He still owes me twenty bucks.” I blink at my twin in confusion, covering my nervousness up with jokes and sarcasm.

        _What bet?_ I ask my silver-haired twin.

       “You don’t want to know,” Jak replies, the same strained humor in his words. The Inquisitor doesn’t bat an eyelash.

       “Very well,” she says imperiously. “But he can’t remain at the Institute. Just because the Sword is gone doesn’t mean the interrogation won’t proceed as planned. And in the meantime, the boy must be held under observation.” 

       Part of me wants to bitch-slap the Inquisitor into the sun. The other part of me wants to skin her alive and feed it to her.

       “A flight risk?” Isabelle demands as my hands rise in preparation to sign something. Alec’s nails are digging into my skin now. “You act as if he tried to escape from the Silent City—”

       “Well, he’s no longer in his cell now, is he?” the Inquisitor replies sharply.

       “Did you want us to leave him to die?” Jak asks sharply. “Blood or not, we couldn’t leave him in there. It wouldn’t be fair to any of us.”

       “Not fair?” the Inquisitor demands. “Not fair?do you honestly expect me to believe that you were motivated to come to the Bone City because of a distress call, and not because you wanted to free Jonathan from what you clearly consider unnecessary confinement? And do you expect me to believe you won’t try to free him again if he’s allowed to remain at the Institute? Do you think you can fool me as easily as you fool everyone else, Jessamine Grace Morgenstern?”

       There’s a moment of silence, in which I blink slowly. Then I jerk my arm free of my _parabatai’s_ grasp, striding towards the Inquisitor as I take out a deck of _adamas_ cards. Before the old hag can move, my hand snaps out multiple times, silver blurs flying from my hands. When the Inquisitor steps back, the outline of her boots are formed with the cards. I smirk without humor, one hand slipping the cards into a pocket.

       Rage overtakes my mind, so much that it strangles my inner fear of talking.

       “Nobody calls me that,” I snarl. “Not Jessamine. Not Grace. Not Morgenstern, and certainly not all at once. I’m Jessa. Haven’t always been, but sure as hell am now. It’s Jessa or nothing. You don’t know me, and sure as Edom don’t care. You need people to lord over. But I don’t do lords.”

       Everyone is gaping, and I’m pretty sure I’ve broken quite a few people. They’ve all heard about the rogue Shadowhunter without angel blood, the mute one. And hearing me speak, well… that might be a bit shocking. But right now, I’m too high on the adrenaline to care. I’ll probably regret it, but Magnus and Jak might view it as improvement. Before anyone else can react, Magnus steps forwards.

       “Look, it’s not a problem,” he says. “I can keep Jace at my place easily enough.” That shakes the Inquisitor out of her daze. She turns to Alec.

       “Your warlock does realize that Jonathan is a witness of utmost importance to the Clave?” she asks.

       “He’s not my warlock,” my _parabatai_  protests, cheeks a dark red.

       “I’ve held prisoners for the Clave before,” Magnus cuts in. “I think you’ll find I have an excellent record in that department. My contract is one of the best.” The Inquisitor makes a noise, something that’s a mix of amusement and disgust.

       “It’s settled, then,” she says. “Let me know when he’s well enough to talk, warlock. I’ve still got plenty of questions for him.”

       “Of course,” my adoptive warlock dad replies. But I know him well enough to tell that he’s not really listening. Jace’s eyes snap open all of a sudden, gaze landing on Magnus.

       “What are you doing here?” The warlock grins down at my brother.

       “Hey, roommate." 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

       Jak and I go home with Jace and Magnus, supporting our brother through the Portal and onto the couch. From there, the two of us leave the others alone, preferring to stay in the attic, crouched among the rafters. Hidden in the shadows, I shed the hoodie and let my wings free. Times like these are rare and few in between, so I take whatever time I can to leave my wings unrestrained. Jak perches beside me, legs swinging.

       “You know, I kinda wonder why Alec chose to call Magnus,” my twin wonders out loud. 

       “They’re boyfriends,” I point out.

       “Yeah, but didn’t that kinda give the fact away?” Jak presses. “Like, nobody knew before, but now they could kinda be suspecting it.” I roll my eyes.

       “They’re probably not going to jump straight to conclusions,” I reply confidently. “The most they’ll do is assume that Alec is familiar with Magnus because they’ve worked together, not because they’re romantically involved.” I scowl, wrinkling my nose. “Besides,” I continue, “they wouldn’t dare think that a Lightwood would tarnish the race of Shadowhunters, now, would they?” A sigh from Jak.

       “If you put it like that, it’s depressing,” my twin comments. “You have a knack for that, you know?” I roll my eyes.

       “Just like you have a knack for making things annoying?” Jak raises his hands in defeat, though a smile plays at the edge of his mouth. A lull falls between us, only broken by my twin.

       “Do you ever think about what our lives would be like if we weren’t Shadowhunters?” he wonders. I huff out a laugh.

       “Not really,” I reply. “But as soon as you said that, I knew what I’d be doing.”

       “What’s that?”

       “I’d be swimming. Like, proper swimming. In the ocean, at a beach in Australia. Like we did when we were little.” Jak sighs again, this time wistfully.

       “Yeah,” he agrees. “That was fun, even if I can barely remember it.” I bob my head before slumping against a wood support beside me. Jak does the same on his side. I rub at my bare arms, frowning.

       “Wasn’t it cold in here a moment ago?” I ask out loud.

       “Don’t ask me,” Jak says. I hum, eyes drifting shut.

       “Night, Jak,” I murmur.

       “G’night, Jess.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

       The next day only really starts when the doorbell rings. I stumble downstairs tiredly, hoodie halfway on by the time I tug the door open. The first person I see is Alec. Then I spot a splotch of fiery red hair next to a duller brown.

       “We came to see Jace,” Clary says instantly. “Is he alright?” I blink slowly, subtly pulling the back of my hoodie down to cover the ends of my wings, yawning.

       “It’s too early for this,” I groan, turning. “MAGS!” Chairman Meow makes a break for it, but I quickly scoop him up just as Magnus enters the room. 

       “Is Jace alright?” Clary repeats.

       “I don’t know,” Magnus replies. “Does he normally just lie on the floor like that without moving?” I blanch, but then remember batting Jace’s hands away from my breakfast a couple minutes before.

       “What—“

       Alec breaks off as I send a reassuring jolt of _comfort, safety, warmth_ through the _parabatai_ bond. The ravenette frowns at his boyfriend.

       “That’s not funny.”

       “You’re so easy to tease,” Magnus replies with a grin. “And yes, your friend is just fine.” A pause.

       “Magnus is pissed at him because he keeps organizing everything,” I explain. Alec gives a small “Oooh”, but Clary and Simon simply look bemused. 

       “I can’t find anything,” my warlock dad complains. “He’s compulsive.”

       “Jace does like things neat,” Clary comments thoughtfully. I snort.

       “You noticed?”

       “Well I don’t,” Magnus answers snappily, eyeing a scowling Alec out of the corner of his eye.

       “He’s in the spare room if you want to see him,” I say. Chairman Meow smacks me on the chin so that I pet him. When I look back up, the three are still looking at me. I stare at them blankly, before realizing. “Oh, he’s here,” I say, walking across the room to solve Jace’s door open with my hip. The TV is on, power present even if it’s not plugged on. “What’s on?” I ask, scratching Chairman’s ear.

       “What Not To Wear,” Jace drawls from the armchair, sitting forward and shaking his blonde head at the screen. “High-waisted khaki pants? Who wears those?” He turns to glare at Magnus, who stands right behind me. “Nearly unlimited supernatural power and all you do is use it to watch reruns. What a waste.”

       “Also, TiVo accomplishes much the same thing,” Simon points out.

       “That’s what I told him,” I grumble. The mundane blinks, surprised. It’s the first time I’ve spoken in front of him. “And Raphael still wonders why I use his TV.”

       “Wait, Raphael?” Simon asks, paling.

       “My way is cheaper,” Magnus says, ignoring both Simon and me as he claps, flooding the room with light. Jace raises an arm to cover his face and I hiss.

       “Cheapskate,” I hear Jak grumble as he appears in the doorway with the others. 

       “Can you do that without magic?” my brother asks.

       “Actually, yes,” Simon informs us. “If you watched infomercials, you’d know that.” I snort. 

       “That’s enough,” Clary declares. She looks to Jace, who’s lowered his arm and is blinking resentfully. “We need to talk,” my cousin says. “All of us, even Jessa’s twin,. About what we’re going to do now.”

       “I was going to watch Project Runway,” Jace says. “It’s on next.” I roll my eyes.

       “No you’re not,” Magnus says, snapping his fingers. The TV shuts off, releasing a small puff of smoke as it does. “We need to deal with this.” 

       “Suddenly you’re interested in solving my problems?”

       “I’m interested in getting my apartment back, and not having Jessa looking at me with that magical glare of hers. I swear, she learned that from… Well, point is I’m tired of you cleaning all the time.” The warlock snaps again, this time menacingly. “Get up.”

       “Or you’ll be the next one to go up in smoke,” Simon adds with relish.

       “There’s no need to clarify my finger snap,” Magnus says irritatedly. “The implication was clear in the snap itself.”

       “Fine,” Jace says, getting up from the chair. He’s barefoot, and I can see a line of purplish silver skin around his wrist where his injuries are still healing. “You want a round table meeting, we can have a round table meeting.”

       “I love round tables,” Magnus says brightly. “They suit me so much better than square.”

       “No poky edges,” Jak cheers dryly, pushing himself off of the doorframe.


	12. Chapter 12

       In the living room, Magnus magicks up an enormous round table surrounded by six high-backed wooden chairs.

       “That’s amazing,” Clary breathes, slipping into a chair. I follow her, turning a chair to the side and sitting in it sideways, cross-legged. Sitting like a normal person is something I’d had to sacrifice for wings. “How can you create something out of nothing like that?”

       “You can’t,” Magnus corrects as everyone else takes a seat. “Everything comes from somewhere. These come from an antiques reproduction store on Fifth Avenue, for instance. And these” —all go a sudden, six white paper cups appear on the table, steam rising from the holes in the lids— “come from Dean & DeLuca on Broadway.”

       “Science lessons with Magnus Bane: the law of conservation of matter,” I mutter, grabbing a cup and taking a sip. The heat scorched my tongue, and I screw up my face in annoyance. Jak grins, taking a sip of his scorching hot coffee without issue.

       “That seems like stealing, doesn’t it?” Simon asks, grabbing a cup and opening it. “Ooh. Mochaccino.” He looks at Magnus again. “Did you pay for these?”

       “Sure,” the warlock says flippantly. Jace, Alec, Jak and I all snicker. “I make dollar bills magically appear in their cash register.”

       “Really?” the mundane asks, amazed.

       “No,” my warlock dad says casually, grabbing his own cup of coffee. “But you can pretend I did if it makes you feel better. So, first order of business is what?”

       “Figuring out what’s going on would be a start,” Clary says, blowing in her drink. “Jace, you said what happened in the Silent City was Valentine’s fault?” _Guilt, regret, shame._ Jace looks down at his coffee.

       “Yes.” Alec places a hand on Jace’s arm, probably feeling the same emotional echoes from our _parabatai_.

       “What happened? Did you see him?”

       “I was in the cell,” Jace replies in a dead voice. “I heard the Silent Brothers screaming. Then Valentine came downstairs with—with something. I don’t know what it was. Like smoke, with glowing eyes. A demon, but not like any I’ve ever seen before. He came up to the bars and he told me… “

        _Anger, fear, shame, regret, guilt._

       “Told you what?” I prompt. Alec slides his hand up Jace’s shoulder, and I see Magnus eyeing the two with jealousy. I clear my throat, eyes flickering over to Magnus. The ravenette quickly drops his arm as Simon smiles into his coffee. Jak looks me dead in the eyes, mouthing “shipped” with a straight face. I bite my lip to hold in my laughter. 

       “Maellartach,” Jace says finally. “He wanted the Soul Sword and he killed the Silent Brothers to get it.” Magnus frowns.

       “Alec, last night, when the Silent Brothers called for your help, where was the Conclave? Why was no one at the Institute?” My raven-haired _parabatai_ looks a bit surprised to be asked.

       “There was a Downworlder murder in Central Park last night,” he explains. “A faerie child was killed. The body was drained of blood.”

       “I bet the Inquisitor thinks I did that, too,” Jace comments dryly. “My reign of terror continues.” Magnus stands, going to the window and pushing the curtain back, letting in enough light to silhouette his profile.

       “Blood,” he murmurs. “I had a dream two nights ago. I saw a city all of blood, with towers made of bone, and blood ran in the streets like water.” I repress a strangled noise of surprise, because as Magnus utters those words, I can see what he means. Towering structures made of bone, stained red by blood. Nothing is left untouched. But the worst part about it? I feel almost… comfortable here. This place is familiar to me. And the scene in front of me… I loved it.

       I’m yanked out of my thoughts by a familiar mundane’s voice. 

       “Is standing by the window muttering about blood something he does all the time?”

       “No,” I manage, still reeling. “He does it on the couch too.” Alec is standing now, gaze pinned to my adoptive warlock dad. Vaguely, I wonder how he can possibly ignore my emotional backlash through the _parabatai_  bond. 

       “Magnus, what’s wrong?”

       “The blood,” Magnus says again, this time louder. “It can’t be a coincidence.” Over the warlock’s head, I can see the sunset in the distance, striping the sky with aluminum and rosy gold. “There have been several murders this week,” Magnus says, “of Downworlders. A warlock, killed in an apartment tower down by the South Stret Seaport. His neck and wrists were cut and the body drained of blood. And a werewolf was killed at the Hunter’s Moon a few days ago. The throat was cut in that case as well.”

       “Sounds like vampires,” Simon comments, very pale all of a sudden.

       “Raphael said it wasn’t them,” I say, shaking my head.

       “Yeah, ‘cause he’s trustworthy,” Simon mutters.

       “In this case I think he was telling the truth,” Magnus says, closing the curtain. A book appears in his hands as he makes his way back to the table, the heavy volume bound with green cloth. “There was a strong demonic presence at both locations,” my dad continues. “I think someone else was responsible for all three deaths. Not Raphael and his tribe, but Valentine.”

       My eyes go to Jace. The blonde's mouth is a thin line, and his face is drawn. _Guilt_  and _nervousness_  take center stage. 

       “Why do you say that?” he asks finally.

       “The Inquisitor thought the faerie murder was a diversion,” my dad says. “So that he could plunder The Silent City without worrying about the Conclave.”

       “There are easier ways to create a diversion,” the blonde points out. “And it is unwise to antagonize the Fair Folk. He wouldn’t have murdered one of the clan of faerie if he didn’t have a reason.”

       “He had a reason,” Jak cuts in, glancing at Magnus. I know what my twin is going to say, having come to the same conclusion. “There was something he wanted from the faerie child, just like the warlock and werewolf.”

       “What’s that?” Alec asks.

       “Their blood,” Magnus replies casually, opening the book. Inside, the thin parchment have glowing words, almost like fire in ink form. “Ah,” he says. “Here.” Looking up, Magnus taps a page with a glittery fingernail. Alec and I both lean forward, being the farthest from the book. “You won’t be able to read it,” my dad warns. It’s not directed at me, though, it’s at my raven-haired _parabatai_. I can read it, and so can Magnus and Jak.

       “Demon language,” Jak explains. “Purgatic.”

       “I can recognize the drawing, though,” Alec comments. “That’s Maellartach. I’ve seen it before in books.” His finger rests on the drawing of the Soul Sword.

       “The Ritual Of Infernal Conversion,” I read out loud. “Well that just sounds like a bucket full of kittens.”

       “The what of what?” Clary asks, frowning. **Is that really a question?**

       “Every magical object has an alliance,” Magnus explains. “The alliance of the Soul Sword is seraphic—like those angel knives you Shadowhunters use, but a thousand times more so, because its power was drawn from the Angel himself, not simply from the invocation of an angelic name.”

       “What Valentine wants to do is reverse its alliance,” Jak cuts in, hands cupping his coffee. “Basically going from angelic to demonic.” 

       “Lawful good to lawful evil!” Simon exclaims.

       “He’s quoting Dungeons & Dragons,” Clary says. “Ignore him.”

       “As the Angel’s Sword, Maellartach’s use to Valentine would be limited,” Magnus continues. “But as a sword whose demonic power is equal to the angelic power it once possessed… “

       “We’re screwed,” Jak says, eyes scanning the pages of the cloth-bound volume. “Complete control over demons, not just protection. The power to call demons, force them to do his bidding, etc.”

       “A demon army?” Alec asks, sounding concerned.

       “This guy is big on armies,” Simon observes. Both my fiery-haired cousin and I shoot him a look.

       “Power even to bring them into Idris, perhaps,” Magnus says, ignoring Simon.

       “I don’t know why he’d want to go there,” the mundane comments. “That’s where all the demon hunters are, aren’t they? Wouldn’t they just annihilate the demon guys?” I shake my head, tapping on the wooden surface of the table in order to grab my twin’s attention. 

       “Demons are from another dimension,” Jak explains tersely, half-focused on the ritual. “We don’t know how many of them there are. For all we know, their numbers could be infinite.” 

       “The wards would keep most of them back,” I muse. “But if they all attacked at once, from all sides… “ I break off with a grimace.

       “Like I said: we’re screwed,” my twin finishes. I see-saw my hand back and forth.

       “I don’t get it,” Alec says. “What does the ritual have to do with dead Downworlders?”

       “To perform the Ritual of Conversion, you need to seethe the Sword until it’s red-hot, then cool it four times,” Jak reads aloud. “For each time you cool it, you submerge it in a different type of blood from a Downworlders child. Once in the blood of a child of Lilith, once in the blood of a child of the moon, once in the blood of a child of the night, and once in the blood of a child of faerie. Because demons can’t just use chicken blood like regular Satanists.” Everyone looks faintly sick. I shove the nausea away, putting up an undisturbed front.

       “Oh my god,” Clary says faintly. “So he’s not done killing? There’s still one more child to go?”

       “Two,” I correct. “Bat interrupted Valentine when he was taking blood from Joseph.”

       “Joseph?”

       “The werewolf child,” I snap. “You’re telling me you didn’t even learn his name?” Magnus holds up a hand to quiet me, and I blink in surprise. It’s not often that that happens. Actually, this is the first time. Ever. Slamming the book shut, dust puffing from its pages, my dad resumes speaking.

       “Whatever Valentine’s ultimate goal is, he’s already more than halfway to reversing the Sword. He’s probably able to garner some power from it already. He could already be calling on demons—“

       “But you’d think if he were doing that, there’d be reports of disturbances, excess demon activity,” Jace points out. “But the Inquisitor said the opposite is true—that everything’s been quiet.”

       “And so it might be,” the warlock agrees, “if Valentine were calling all the demons to him.”

       “No wonder it’s quiet,” Jak mutters. Before anyone can say anything, a sharp noise cuts through the lingering silence, making my red-haired cousin spill coffee all over her wrist. She gasps, hissing in pain. 

       “It’s my mother,” Alec says, checking his phone. “I’ll be right back.” He wanders over to the window, head down and voice too low to hear, even with my enhanced senses.

       “Let me see,” Simon says, taking Clary’s burnt hand. There’s an angry red blotch on her wrist, right where the coffee had scalded her.

       “It’s okay,” my cousin protests. “No big deal.” The mundane lifts the redhead’s hand, kissing the injury gently.

       “All better now.” I raise an eyebrow, and Clary herself makes a startled noise and draws her wrist back, looking at Jace. Almost… guilty.

       “You’re a Shadowhunter,” Jace says flatly. _Jealousy_  is practically painting my insides with green. “You know how to deal with injuries.” He slides his stele across the table with an expressionless mask. “Use it.”

       “No,” Clary says firmly, pushing the divine instrument back across the table. **Baaaaad choice. Don’t fan the fucking fire.** My brother slams a hand down on it, _anger_  crashing in to strangle the _jealousy_. 

       “Clary—“

       “She said she doesn’t want it,” the mundane interjects. “Ha-ha.”

       “Ha-ha?” the blonde repeats, incredulous. “That’s your comeback?” I close my eyes tightly, irritated beyond belief. Tucking the irritation away to let it explode later, I refocus on keeping my wings still. One odd movement might draw Simon’s attention and then the cat’s out of the bag. It was a close call in the Bone City, and I don’t want that to happen again. I open my eyes at the sounds of footsteps.

       “What’s going on?” my raven-haired _parabatai_ asks with a look of puzzlement. Nobody responds, instead looking at Alec in askance. He flicks a dark strand of hair out of his eyes. _Discomfort._

       “I told my mother about the Infernal Conversion.” I huff out a tired sigh.

       “Let me guess. Ten bucks say she didn’t believe you, another five say that she blamed it on either Jak or me.” My _parabatai_ frowns at me.

       “You’d lose that bet,” he says. I raise a single, sardonic eyebrow.

       “But… ?” He sighs.

       “She said she’d bring it up with the Conclave, but that she didn’t have the Inquisitor’s ear right now. I get the feeling the Inquisitor has pushed Mom out of the way and taken over. She sounded… angry.” I soften marginally at the slight hesitation. Nobody else has clued into the fact that Alec’s been abused by Robert, and that his deepest fear was that his mother would turn into his father. One could think of it as bad, since his own family, his own _parabatai_ , hasn’t noticed. But I usually look at the situation as good, since it shows how well Alec’s been protecting his family. I’m jolted out of my thoughts when Alec’s phone rings yet again. The ravenette holds up a finger, lifting the phone.

       “Sorry. It’s Isabelle. One sec.” He walks back over to the window as Jace glances at me.

       “I think you’re right about the werewolf at the Hunter’s Moon. The guy who found his body said someone was in the alley with him. Someone who ran off.”

       “Bat,” I reply stonily. “His name is Bat.” It’s getting harder to keep my irritation in check, because this is getting ridiculous. While I do know that Shadowhunter prejudices go a long way, I never thought that they wouldn’t even bother to learn the names of the very people that they protect and collaborate with. 

       “It sounds to me like Valentine was interrupted in the middle of doing whatever it is he does to get the blood he needs,” Magnus interjects quickly. “He’ll probably try again with a different lycanthrope child.”

       “We should tell Luke,” I murmur, thinking of the pack leader. I reach for my phone subconsciously, but let out a noise of surprise when I realize that it isn’t on me. 

       “Wait,” Alec says before I can ask Jak about my phone.

       “What did Isabelle want?” Jace asks. Our _parabatai_ hesitates.

       “Isabelle says the Queen of the Seelie Court has requested an audience with us.” I shudder.

       “Sure,” Jak says scathingly. “And Jessa will stop drinking coffee for the rest of her life and join the One Direction fandom.” I flip him off. _Confusion_.

       “Who’s One Direction?” Alec asks, puzzled.

       “Who’s the Queen of the Seelie Court?” Clary asks. 

       “She’s the Queen of Faerie,” Jak says, mock-grandly. “Well, the local one, anyway.” Jace’s head drops down into his hands. _Irritation, distaste_.

       “Tell Isabelle no,” my blonde _parabatai_ grouses.

       “But she thinks it’s a good idea,” Alec counters. I clear my throat.

       “In the time that I’ve known her—almost a month, by the way—I’ve learnt that Iz has two kinds of ideas: coffee kind and decaf kind. This is a decaf.”

       “This is different,” the ravenette insists. “She wants us to go to the Seelie Court.” I groan, mirroring my brother’s position.

       “You’re right, this is different,” Jace mutters, _dread_  rolling over me in waves. “This is her worst idea ever.” 

       “She knows a knight in the Court,” our _parabatai_ explains patiently. “He told her that the Seelie Queen is interested in meeting with us. Isabelle overheard my conversation with our mother—and she thought if we could explain our theory about Valentine and the Soul Sword to the Queen, the Seelie Court Would side with us, maybe even ally with us against Valentine.”

       “Is it safe to go there?” Clary asks skeptically. I lift my head from my hands.

       “No,” I say shortly. Jak clears his throat, shoulders tense and posture strung tightly. 

       “I think I’ll sit this one out,” my silver-haired twin decides. “I have a shift at Pandemonium tonight. Besides, Jess and I have had some… issues with the Folk before. I’d rather not repeat them.” 

       “That’s putting it mildly,” I grumble under my breath. Jak kicks me under the table.

       “Isabelle thinks—and I agree—that it’s not a good idea to ignore the Fair Folk. If they want to talk, what harm can to do?”

       “A lot,” Jak and I mumble in unison, exchanging looks of exasperation. _Irritation_.

       “Besides, if the Seelie Court were on our side, the Clave would have to listen to what we have to say,” Alec continues, pointedly ignoring my twin and me. Jace laughs bitterly.

       “The Fair Folk don’t help humans.”

       “Shadowhunters aren’t human,” Clary points out.

       “Well, they’re not exactly any better,” I counter. 

       “They can’t be worse than vampires,” Simon mutters. “And you did all right with them.” I snort.

       “Did all right with them?” Jak queries sarcastically. “By which I take it you mean we actually survived.”

       “Well… “

       “Faeries are part demon, part angel,” I say quietly. Everyone shuts up. “Beauty of an angel, viciousness of a demon. A vamp would attack if you entered their domain, but a faerie would make you dance until your legs are gone, then trick you into a swim. After that, as you struggle to stay afloat, they’d drag you underwater, keep you there until your lungs burst. Then—“

       “Jessamine!” Jace snaps, cutting me off. I reel back, almost falling off my chair. He sounds like Valentine when he says that. Because only Valentine ever used my full name. Only he used it like that; like a whip, my own being turned against me. Jace and Alec must get my emotional backlash, because Alec winces subtly and Jace softens.

       “Look, what Jess was trying to say was that it’s easy to outsmart a werewolf or a vampire,” the blonde says. “They’re no smarter than anyone else. But faeries live for hundreds of years and they’re as cunning as snakes. They can’t lie, but they love to engage in creative truth-telling. They’ll find out whatever it is you want most in the work and give it to you—with a sting in the tail of the gift that will make you regret you ever wanted it in the first place. 

       “They’re not really about helping people,” Jak sums up dryly. “More about harm disguised as help. Y’know, whole “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts” type thing. And, speaking from experience, becoming entangled with the Seelie is a bad choice for any and all parties involved.”

       “And you don’t think we’re smart enough to know the difference?” Simon interjects. My twin smirks.

       “I don’t think you’re smart enough to not drink one of my faerie drinks,” he corrects. I blink in surprise. Jak never makes any faerie drinks anymore. Not since… 

       “You made the drinks?” I vocalize incredulously. 

       “Most of them,” Jak says with a shrug, like it’s not a big deal. My twin is a filthy fucking liar, and that is something that we are going to address once this shitshow of a plan is over. Simon glares, but directs it at Jace.

       “I don’t even know why we’re listening to golden boy, considering that he can’t go with us in the first place,” the brunette remarks nastily. “He can’t go anywhere.” Jace stands abruptly, knocking his chair back, _anger_  seeming to tear its way out of my mind and echo around the room. 

       “You are not taking a Clary to the Seelie Court without me and that is final!”


	13. Chapter 13

       My cousins stare at each other, Clary with her mouth open. _Hurt. Why?_

       “I can take care of Clary,” Alec says out loud, the _hurt_ in our bond audible to me in his voice.

       “Alec,” my blonde _parabatai_ says, eyes locked with the ravenette. “No. You can’t.” Alec swallows, _guilt_  apparent.

       “We’re going,” he says, the words almost an apology. “Jace—a request from the Seelie Court—it would be stupid to ignore it. Besides, Isabelle’s probably already told them were coming.”

       “There is no chance I’m going to let you do this, Alec,” our _parabatai_ says, voice dangerous. “I’ll wrestle you to the ground if I have to.” I throw my hands up in the air, then turn to Magnus, because I won’t be able to resolve this without bloodshed.

       “While that does sound tempting, there is another way,” my dad intervenes.

       “What other way?” Jace demands, rounding on the warlock. “This is a directive from the Clave. I can’t just weasel out of it.”

       “But I can,” Magnus replies with a grin. “Never doubt my weaseling abilities, Shadowhunter, for they are epic and memorable in their scope.” I groan, shaking my head. I’m not surprised that Magnus made a loophole, just utterly mortified that he just used that sentence to describe it. “I specifically enchanted the contract with the Inquisitor so that I could let you go for a short time if I desired, as long as another of the Nephilim was willing to take your place.

       “Where are we going to find another—“

       I throw up my hands, making a wide gesture to cover all of the occupants of the room except for Simon and Magnus., interrupting my raven-haired  _parabatai_.

       “Oh,” Alec says meekly. “You mean me.” Jace’s eyebrows make a break for the sky. “Oh, now you don’t want to go to the Seelie Court?” The ravenette flushes.

       “It’s logical,” Jak cuts in. “I mean, even if I’m staying here, I’m not a Shadowhunter. Besides, I have a shift at Pandemonium. Simon is a mundane. You and Clary are Valentine’s children. And Jess… well, she might find some answers to her… issue.” My twin shrugs. “Besides, you’re charming.” Jace glares at him and I raise and eyebrow at Jak. “Maybe not at the moment,” the silver and black-haired boy amends. “But, y’know, usually. And faeries like charm.”

       “Plus, if you stay here, I’ve got the whole first season of Gilligan’s Island on DVD,” Magnus chips in.

       “No one could turn that down,” I state in a monotone.

       “Isabelle can meet you in the park by Turtle Pond,” Alec says. “She knows the secret entrance to the Court. She’ll be waiting.”

       “And one last thing,” Magnus cuts in, jabbing a ringed finger at Jace. “Try not to get yourself killed in the Seelie Court. If you die, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.” The blonde grins.

       “You know, I have a feeling that that’s going to be the case whether I get myself killed or not.” 

~~~~~

       I’ve only been to Turtle Pond once. Coming here again is one time too many. Thick tendrils of moss and plants wind around the rim of the pond, the surface of the water still. It only ripples here and there in the wake of drifting ducks or the flick of a fish’s tail. Isabelle sits in a small wooden gazebo built over the pond, looking out across the lake as she waits.

       “Izzy!” Jace call as we approach the pond. The black-haired beauty leaps to her feet, spinning around with a dazzling smile.

       “Jace!” The Lightwood girl practically sprints to her brother, hugging him tightly. I look away uncomfortably, feeling out of place. Jace and Isabelle drift over to the rest of us. The black-haired beauty wears a long black dress with boots, an even longer cutaway coat of soft green velvet over it, the color reminding me of the moss around Turtle Pond.

       “I can’t believe you did it!” Izzy exclaims. “How did you get Magnus to let Jace leave?”

       “Traded him for Alec,” I reply, flicking a fan of cards out nervously. The Lightwood looks mildly alarmed.

       “Not permanently?”

       “No,” Jace says. “Just for a few hours.” The blonde pauses, looking thoughtful. “Unless I don’t come back. In which case, maybe he does keep Alec. Think of it as a lease with an option to buy.” Isabelle looks dubious.

       “Mom and Dad won’t be pleased when they find out.” I raise an eyebrow.

       “That you freed a possible criminal by trading your brother to a warlock who looks like a gay Sonic the Hedgehog and dresses like that creepy bloke from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? They’ll be fucking ecstatic.” Jace eyes Simon with distaste, as if only noticing him for the first time. Probably his way of ignoring me. 

       “Is there some particular reason that you’re here? I’m not so sure we should be bringing you to the Seelie Court. They hate mundanes.” Simon tilts his head up, looking at the sky.

       “Not this again.”

       “Not what again?” Clary asks, bemused.

       “Whenever Jace is pissed, he goes to his No Mundanes Allowed treehouse,” I explain sardonically, rolling my eyes. 

       “Let me remind you, the last time you wanted to leave me behind, I saved all your lives,” Simon interjects, pointing at my blonde brother.

       “Sure,” Jace agrees. “One time—“

       “The Courts are dangerous,” I snap. “Even a bow can’t help you, because this shit isn’t physical. It’s mental mind games that leave you a vegetable for the rest of your life or stuck in a limbo worse than death.”

       “I can take care of myself,” Simon insists.

       “You don’t have to come,” Clary says, looking at the mundane with concern.

       “Yeah,” the latter says grimly. “I do.” Jace makes a noise, breaking the lingering silence.

       “Then I suppose we’re ready,” he declares. “Don’t expect any special consideration, mundane.”

       “Look on the bright side,” Simon says soothingly. “If they need a human sacrifice, you can always offer me. I’m not sure if Jessa qualifies anyway, least of all the rest of you.” _Glee. Reluctant admiration. Slight worry._

       “Such optimism,” I grumble. Jace brightens externally, but I’d felt his emotions through our bond. Now that we’re _parabatai_ , there’s practically nothing that we can hide from each other.

       “It’s always nice when someone volunteers to be the first up against the wall,” my brother states happily.

       “Come on,” Isabelle interrupts. “The door is about to open.” My redhead cousin looks around.

       “Where do we go?” she asks. “Where’s the door?” Izzy smiles secretively, with the touch of something wicked.

       “Follow me.” And with that, she goes right up to the edge of the pond, the rest of us following with Clary at the front, Simon, Jace in the middle and me bringing up the rear. A quiet curse as the mundane slips in the mud, a flash of worry from my _parabatai_ bond and Jace moves to catch him. Simon jerks his arm back.

       “I don’t need your help.”

       “Yes you do,” I snap irritatedly. “We’re all fucking slipping, so shut the fuck up already.”

       “That's my girl,” Izzy states approvingly, looking at me from the shallow water at the edge of the pond. “But seriously, both of you have to stop it. In fact, Clary you need to stop it too. If we don’t stick together in the Seelie Court, we’re dead.” 

       “We’re dead anyways,” I snort. 

       “But I haven’t—“

       “Maybe you haven’t,” Isabelle interrupts Clary, “but the way you let those two act… “

       “I can’t tell them what to do!” the redhead exclaims.

       “Why not?” the black-haired beauty demands, eyebrow arching. “Honestly, Clary, if you don’t start utilizing a bit of your natural feminine superiority—I just don’t know what I’ll do with you.” I huff a sigh as Iz turns back to the pond, right before abruptly spinning back around. “And lest I forget,” she adds. “For the love of the Angel, don’t eat or drink anything while we’re underground, any of you. Okay?”

       “Underground?” Simon asks worriedly. “Nobody said anything about underground.” The Lightwood girl throws her hands up in exasperation, not deigning to respond before splashing into the pond. With a dubious look over her shoulder, Clary follows with the rest of us on her heels. Isabelle’s coat swirls out around her like a lily pad as she and Simon splash through the water, although the mundane swears quite a bit more than Iz. My red-haired cousin treads carefully, but Jace and I barely make a ripple.

       “Come on,” Izzy commands. “We only have until the moon moves.” She reaches the center of the pond, holding a hand out to signal the rest of us to stop. We do, and I peer around Jace to get a look at the moon. Just in front of Isabelle is the reflection of the full moon, glimmering atop the water like a strangely ethereal dinner plate. This reflection is strange, though; as we moved forwards, the reflection should’ve moved away.

       However, this one stays still, hovering on the surface of the pond as if anchored in place. Where I am, I’m almost up to my breasts in water. It makes me envious of the others; Simon and Jace are barely a few inches past their waist, Isabelle is up to her rib cage and Clary’s stomach is half-covered. Out of all of us, I’m the most submerged. 

       “Jessa, you go first,” Izzy commands, waving me forwards. “Jace, you go next so that she can keep an eye on you.” The blonde rolls his eyes, but follows me as we brush past Clary and Simon. The closer we get to the reflection, the taller I have to stand to avoid the water going past my chest. My wings feel light on my back for the first time in ages, though I frown as I think about how my hoodie will stick to them, outlining the shape of my wings. Putting the thought aside, I take a deep breath and tip forwards, falling into the reflection of the moon.

       I come out in a hallway-like hollow, rolling on my side and then to my feet. I’m wringing myself out when Jace falls through, landing gracefully on his feet. He smiles at me, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him—at least, after Valentine and all that. I wring my hoodie out quickly, molding my wings to my body as best as I can, praying to all things holy that my wings will go unnoticed. I highly doubt it, but it never hurts to try. Clary falls through the ceiling, and Jace catches her arm quickly, steadying her. 

       “Easy does it,” he says, letting her go. I snort giving up on my hoodie and settling down, wings heavy against my back. Simon falls through as I turn to survey my surroundings. We’re in a hollowed-out dirt corridor, the only source of light being the faintly glowing moss all over the walls. A tangle of dangling vines forms a curtain in front of our group, concealing the other end of the corridor. Isabelle falls through the ceiling, landing on her feet like Jace and interrupting my thought process quite spectacularly. 

       “Oooh, that was fun,” she says, wringing her hair out.

       “That does it,” Jace declares. “I’m going to get you a dictionary for Christmas this year.”

       “Why?” the Lightwood girl asks.

       “So you can look up ‘fun.’ I’m not sure you know what it means.” Isabelle finishes wringing out her hair.

       “You’re raining on my parade.”

       “Already pretty wet,” I comment dryly.

       “Now what?” my _parabatai_ asks, ignoring me as he looks around. “Which way do we go?”

       “Neither way,” Izzy replies airily. “We wait here, and they come and get us.” My cousin frowns.

       “How do they know we’re here?” she asks. “Is there a doorbell we have to ring or something?” 

       “The Court knows all that happens in their lands,” I declare dramatically, raising my arms mockingly.

       “Our presence won’t go unnoticed,” Izzy clarifies hastily. Simon eyes her suspiciously.

       “How do you know so much about faeries and the Seelie Court, anyway?” Isabelle blushes, and I roll my eyes just as the curtain of vines are drawn to one side as a faerie steps through, shaking back his long hair. I drop into a fighting stance instantly, crouching low, fists up, teeth bared in a frozen snarl. 

       The faerie’s hair is long, falling in a blue-black waterfall around a cool, sharp face with piercing green eyes. A tattoo of a leaf accentuates one of his cheekbones, and he wears a silvery-brown set of armor that flashes every color of the rainbow and then some every time he moves; the armor of a Seelie knight. I couldn’t give a single shit about his status, though. All I remembered was that he’d tried to sell Jak and me out to… a person whose name doesn’t even deserve to be thought, much less said. 

       Meliorn looks startled upon seeing me, eyes widening as he takes a step back, narrowly avoiding a collision with the tree root curtain.

       “You?” he asks, almost confused. I nail him with a glare cold enough to refreeze the polar ice caps, hands raised in defense.

       “Meliorn!” Isabelle cries, jumping into his arms an diffusing the tension.

       “Ah,” Simon says quietly, “so that’s how she knows.” Meliorn barely pays  attention to Izzy, instead looking at me over her shoulder.

       “What is the Angel doing in the Seelie Court?” I pull a face at the Seelie knight, rising cautiously, if only to sign out a short, clipped sentence.

        _Business. Why sell out?_ Meliorn averts his eyes, gaze falling back on Isabelle, detaching her and setting the black-haired beauty to the side.

       “This is not a time for affection,” he says gravely, eyes drifting over to me. “The Queen of the Seelie Court has requested an audience with the three Nephilim among you, not the Angel or the mundane.”

        _Not Angel_ , I cut in, signing fast, short and sharp. _If want stay pretty Seelie_ [a combination of the signs for ‘fly’ and ‘person’] _suggest call J-E-S-S-A._

       “What the heck does he mean by Angel?” Simon cuts in. “As far as I know, Jessa is not an Angel any more than I’m one.”

       “You’d be surprised by what you can manage to hide with a garment,” Meliorn replies evenly, green eyes boring into me. I lift my head proudly, shoulders set, refusing to back down. The Seelie knight’s gaze lowers, switching to Simon. “Mundane humans are not permitted in the Court.”

       “I wish someone had mentioned that earlier,” the mundane puts in. “I take it I’m just supposed to wait out here until vines start growing on me?”

       “That might offer significant amusement,” Meliorn replies after a moment of thought. I snort. **Amusement stretches pretty far for a lot of faeries, doesn’t it?** I think scathingly. 

       “Simon’s not an ordinary mundane,” Jace cuts in, shocking all of us. “He can be trusted.” Simon stares at my cousin like he’d come from an alien planet. “He has fought many battles with us.”

       “By which you mean one battle,” Simon mutters, barely audible. “Two if you count the one where I was a rat.”

       “We will not enter the Seelie Court without Simon,” Clary interjects quickly, hand still on the mundane’s shoulder. “Your Queen requested this audience with us, remember? It wasn’t our idea to come here.” Meliorn’s eyes wander over to me.

       “And her,” he says, inclining his head. “I suppose the Angel is coming as well?”

       “Why wouldn’t she?” Izzy replies.

       “Because the last time she was here, we did not leave on… good terms.” I snort loudly, raising my hands.

        _Your fault,_ I sign pointedly at the Seelie knight. _Your call._ He sighs.

       “As you wish,” he says. “Let it not be said that the Seelie Court does not respect the desires of its guests.” I giggle at that, fingering the raised scar underneath my hoodie, right above my hip. Meliorn ignores me, instead turning on a booted heel and leading everyone down the corridor without waiting to see if we’re following. Isabelle hurries to catch up with him, leaving us to follow in silence.

       “Are you allowed to date faeries?” Clary finally asks. I’m grateful for the interruption; Simon has been darting glances at my hoodie as if something will jump out of it and attack him. “Would your—would the Lightwood be cool with Isabelle and whatshisname” — “Meliorn,” Simon supplies — “Meliorn going out?”

       “I’m not sure they’re going out,” Jace replies, emphasizing the last two words. “I’d guess they mostly stay in. Or in this case, under.” I shove the blonde lazily, one eye still focused on Meliorn. I’d let my guard down once, and I’m not doing that again. 

       “You sound like you disapprove,” Clary comments as Simon pushes a tree root out of the way. And just like that, our surroundings change. Now the corridor is lined with smooth stones, the occasional root snaking in from above. The floor is some sort of polished… I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it’s a veiny kinda stone with lines of shimmering material like powdered gems.

       “I don’t disapprove exactly,” Jace corrects. “The faeries are known to dally with the occasional mortal, but they always end in abandoning them, usually the worse for wear.” Ahead, Isabelle laughs, the stone corridor throwing her voice back at us.

       “You’re so funny.” I watch as the black-haired beauty trips, Meliorn catching and righting her with ease. 

       “I do not understand how you humans can walk in shoes that are that tall.” For once in my life, I agree with the Seelie knight.

       “It’s my motto,” Izzy says with a sultry smile. “Nothing less than seven inches.” The faeries looks at her stonily. “I’m talking about my heels,” the Lightwood girl clarifies. “It’s a pun. You know? A play on—“

       “Come,” Meliorn interrupts, throwing a nasty glance back at me. “The Queen will be growing impatient.” He leads us all down a corridor, not giving Izzy a second glance.

       “I forgot,” the Lightwood murmurs as we catch up to her. “Faeries have no sense of humor.”

       “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Jace comments airily. “There’s a pixie nightclub downtown called Hot Wings.” I level my cousin with a glare to rival the Inquisitor’s. “Not that I have ever been there,” the blonde adds quickly. In front of us, the corridor opens into a wider circular room. The floor is packed dirt, walls lined with high stone pillars that are practically hidden behind vines and bright flowers bursting with color. Thin cloths hang between them, dyed such a soft blue that it’s almost comparable to that of the sky. The place filled with light, though I have no fucking idea where they get that down here without magic.

       The overall effect of everything is of a summer pavilion, filled with sunlight, instead of this dirt and stone room. The music that’s playing is sour and bitter, enticing the people already trapped in this hell to dance a little more. I close my eyes tightly, wings twitching beneath the hoodie. The heavy black material weighs down on me now, dragging me down with the music. A steadying hand on my arm brings me back to the present, and I open my eyes, my own meeting Izzy’s gold-brown-hazel. I nod a brief thanks to her, then turn to keep an eye on the others. Jace is fine, looking after Clary.

       Simon, however… I reach out quickly, yanking him back from the circle of dancers. Izzy appears with a scarf, winding it around Simon’s eyes and taking the mundane’s arm to lead him. The six of us skirt the circle of dancers, making our way to the opposite end of the room, then through a parted curtain of fine blue silk. The corridor we emerge into is made out of a glossy brown material, almost like a nut. Meliorn frowns.

       “You didn’t care for it?” he asks, seeing my most-likely drained expression. I shoot the Seelie knight a venomous glare with enough poison to kill off the human race, before making sure the others are here. They are.

       “I cared for it a little too much,” Clary says, responding to the faerie’s question. “What was that supposed to be, some kind of test? Or a joke?” The faerie shrugs.

       “I am used to mortals who are easily swayed by our faerie glamours, not so the Nephilim. I thought you had protections.”

       “She does,” Jace cuts in, meeting Meliorn’s gaze with his own steely blue. The other simply shrugs, turning and walking away.

       “So what did I miss?” Simon asks, having had the scarf removed by Isabelle. “Naked dancing ladies?” **I wish.** Clary shudders in reply.

       “Nothing that pleasant.”

       “There are ways for humans to join the revels,” Izzy cuts in quickly, almost as if to distract us. “If they give you a token—like a leaf or a flower—to hold on to, and you keep it through the night, you’ll be fine in the morning. Or if you go with a faerie for a companion… “ At that, the black-haired beauty spots a meaningful look at Meliorn. But it’s too late; we’ve reached a leafy screen that’s set into the wall, the Seelie knight stopping there.

       “These are the Queen’s chambers,” he informs us. “She’s come from her Court in the north to see about the child’s death. If there’s to be war, she wants to be the one declaring it.” The more I look at the screen, the more I realize that it’s made out of thickly woven vines. Meliorn draws the vines apart, ushering us into the chamber on the other side.


	14. Chapter 14

       Jace takes the lead here, ducking through first with Clary hot at his heels. I go through next, trusting Isabelle to see Simon through. Straightening up on the other side, I touch my hand to the hilts of my knives in an act of comfort as I look around. The room itself is plain, earthen walls hung with pale silks. Will-o’-the-wisps glow in glass jars and a woman reclines on a low couch, surrounded by her courtiers; a motley assortment of faeries, ranging from nixies to nymphs and pixies to tiny sprites.

       “My Queen,” Meliorn says, bowing low. “I have brought the Nephilim to you.” At that, the Queen sits up straight, long scarlet hair floating without wind around an angelic face. Her eyes are what draw my attention, though—blue, clear and sharp, like a razor.

       “Three of these are Nephilim,” the Queen comments. “The other is a mundane.” I feel more than see her heavy gaze on me, but the Queen utters not a word. Good riddance, seeing what her people did to Jak. Meliorn shrinks back ever so slightly, and I feel a stir of glee at the prospect. But the Queen doesn’t acknowledge the Seelie knight, just continues to stare at Jace, Clary, Isabelle, Simon and me. I feel her gaze like the heaviest of weights. Is this how Atlas felt when he was lifting the sky?

       “Our apologies, my lady,” Jace says, breaking the tense silence. “The mundane is our responsibility. We owe him protection. Therefore we keep him with us.” The Queen tilts her head to the side like a cat. All her attention is on Jace now, picking apart his words and swirling them around in her brain.

       “A blood debt,” she murmurs. “To a mundane?”

       “He saved my life,” Jace replies smoothly. All of his previous _bitterness_ , _anger_ and _jitter_ is replaced by a smooth facade of _relaxation_ , both inside and out. “Please, my lady,” my cousin continues. “We had hoped you would understand. We had heard you were as kind as you were beautiful, and in that case—well, your kindness must be extreme indeed.” I clench my teeth impatiently. I’d always hated pretty words, meaningless compliments given away like air. I barely avoid groaning in front of everyone. The Queen is smirking now, and she leans forward so that her beautiful hair shadows her face.

       “You are as charming as your father, Jonathan Morgenstern,” she says. Then the Queen gestures to the cushions scattered across the floor. “Come, sit beside me,” she offers. “Eat something. Drink. Rest yourselves. Talk is better with wet lips.” I don’t believe a single word she said. Jace hesitates for beat.

       “It would be unwise to refuse the bounty of the Queen of the Seelie Court,” Meliorn murmurs. Izzy glances at the faerie.

       “It won’t hurt us just to sit down,” she says matter-of-factly. Everyone takes that as a cue to sit, moving around in a whirlwind of movement until I’m the only one left standing. Meliorn throws me a half-inquisitive look and half mildly concerned. I wait for a moment, just to make sure I can feel the reassuring tingle of my speak in tongues rune before I speak. 

        _No sit,_ I explain. _Wings_. Simon gapes from his place on a cushion. The Queen only sighs.

       “It’s quite alright if you take off your jacket.” I hesitate for a moment, throwing a nervous glance at the faeries and Simon. Then, I slowly pull the wet hoodie over my head, wings unfurling and shielding me from everyone’s prying gazes. I sit down, rearranging my face into a stone mask, void of all emotion. A pixie with bluish skin approaches, a platter with six silver cups on it. Everyone except the Queen accepts one, and I peer into mine. The gold-toned liquid looks relatively harmless, but I wrinkle my nose and set my cup down with Simon.

       “Don’t you want any?” the pixie asks. She’s making a conscious effort to avoid looking at my wings. 

       “The last faerie drink I had didn’t agree with me,” the mundane mutters. **Understatement.**

       “Now, Meliorn tells me you claim to know who killed our child in the park last night,” the Queen says, getting right to the point. “Though I tell you now, it seems no mystery to me. A faerie child, drained of blood? Is it that you bring me the name of a single vampire?” Dramatic pause, in which the Queen’s gaze slips over to me, then back to the general audience. “But all vampires are at fault here, for the breaking of the Law, and should be punished accordingly. Despite what may seem, we are not such a particular people.”

       “Oh come on,” Izzy protests. “It isn't vampires.” Jace and I shoot her identical looks.

       “What Isabelle means to say is that we’re almost certain that the murderer is someone else,” my _parabatai_ informs the Queen. “We think he may be trying to throw suspicion on the vampires to shield himself.”

       “Have you proof of that?”

       “Last night The Silent Brothers were slaughtered as well, and none of them were drained of blood,” the blonde replies. His tone is calm, but I can tell that he’s tense. 

       “And this has to do with our child how?” the Queen asks imperiously. “Dead Nephilim are a tragedy to Nephilim, but nothing to me.”

       “The Soul Sword was stolen as well,” Jace elaborates. “You know of Maellartach?”

       “The sword that makes Shadowhunters tell the truth,” the Queen confirms, dark amusement coloring her words. “We fey have no need of such an object.”

        _Taken,_ I sign shortly. _Bastard_  [Valentine’s sign name] _. Killed Brothers to get, think kill faerie. Need blood to turn Sword. Make tool._

       “And he won’t stop,” Isabelle adds. “He needs more blood after that.” The Queen’s already-arched brows arch higher.

       “More blood of the Folk?”

       “No,” Jace admits, shooting his adoptive sister another look. “More Downworlder blood. He needs the blood of a werewolf, a vampire—“

       “That seems hardly our concern,” the Queen interrupts.

       “He killed one of yours,” Izzy says. “Don’t you want revenge?” The Queen’s gaze turns to her, knife-like blue eyes fixing on the Lightwood.

       “Not immediately,” she says. “We are a patient folk, for we have all the time in the world. Valentine Morgenstern is an old enemy of ours—but we have enemies older still. We are content to wait and watch.”

       “He’s summoning demons to him,” Jace says. “Creating an army—“

       “Demons,” the Queen says lightly, interrupting yet again. “Demons are your charge, are they not, Shadowhunter? Is that not why you hold authority over us all? Because you are the ones who slay demons?”

       “I’m not here to give you orders on behalf of the Clave,” my brother replies calmly. “We came when you asked us because we thought that if you knew the truth, you’d help us.”

       “Is that what you thought?” The faerie sits forward in her chair, red-orange hair rippling. “Remember, Shadowhunter, there are those of us who chafe under the rule of the Clave. Perhaps we are tired of fighting your wars for you.” 

       “But it isn’t our war alone,” Jace points out. “Valentine hates Downworlders more than he hates demons. If he defeats us, he’ll go after you next.” The Queen’s eyes seem to become more piercing. “And when he does, remember that it was a Shadowhunter who warned you what was coming.”

        _You play emotion_ , I interject, eyes narrowed. _Feed on feelings. Hurt people. Badly. Remember last time._  Clary, Jace, Simon and Isabelle all look at me inquisitively, but the Queen only looks at me with something akin to regret. Or at least, the barest sliver of something like it. Complete silence, and then the Queen leans back on her cushions, swallowing from a silver chalice.

       “Warning me about your own parent,” the faerie muses, seeming to disregard my outburst completely. “I had thought you mortals capable of filial affection, at least, and yet you seem to feel no loyalty toward Valentine, your father.” Her gaze falls on me. “Uncle.” Neither Jace or I say anything. “Or perhaps this hostility of yours is a pretense,” the Queen continues sweetly. “Love does make liars out of your kind.”

       “But we don’t love our father,” Clary interjects angrily. “We hate him.”

       “Do you?” The Queen looks almost bored, as if our ultra family drama is something she deals with all the time. Well, I don’t think she’s ever dealt with a dad and uncle we thought were dead, then comes back from the dead and kidnaps his wife who has a daughter he didn’t know about. Said daughter is also in love with her long-lost brother, who’s been unknowingly raised by said father all his life with his cousins. Aforementioned cousins have run away and are now living with a sparkly Sonic the Hedgehog who dresses like a fucking disco ball. By the Angel, when you say it like that it sounds like a fucking soap opera.

       “You know how the bonds of family are, my lady,” Jace cuts in, recovering his voice, emotions more confusing than a chameleon in a bag of Skittles. “They cling as tightly as vines. And sometimes, like vines, they cling tightly enough to kill.”

       “You would betray your own father, your own uncle, for the sake of the Clave?”

       “Even so, Lady.” The laugh that the Queen lets out is bright, but cold as the North Pole.

       “Who would have thought that Valentine’s little experiments would turn on him?” Clary, Jace and I all exchanged wary glances.

       “Experiments?” Isabelle asks, voicing our question. The Queen ignores her, gaze fixed on Jace.

       “The Fair Folk are a people of secrets,” she murmurs. “Our own, and others’. Ask your father, when next you see him, what blood runs in your veins, Jonathan.” 

       “I hadn’t planned on asking him anything next time I see him,” my _parabatai_ replies. “But if you desire it, my lady, it will be done.” The Queen’s lips curl into a humorless smile.

       “I think you are a liar,” the faerie declares. “But what a charming one. Charming enough that I will swear you this. Ask your father that question, and I will promise you what aid is in my power, should you strike against Valentine.”

       “Your generosity is as remarkable as your loveliness, Lady,” Jace says with a smile. I bottle up my gag, saving it for later when the Seelie Queen’s gaze isn’t boring into my soul. “And I think we’re done here now,” Jace adds, rising to his feet. He’s already set his drink down, beside mine. Everyone rises, Izzy immediately going to talk to Meliorn in the corner by the vine door.

       “A moment,” the Queen says, rising from her chair. “One of you must remain.” Everyone pauses halfway to the door, turning to face the Queen in confusion.

       “What do you mean?” Jace asks. The Queen stretches a pale hand out to indicate Clary.

       “Once our food or drink passes mortal lips, the mortal is ours. You know that, Shadowhunter.” The redhead looks half-stunned, half-indignant.

       “But I didn’t drink any of it!” My cousin turns to my _parabatai_. “She’s lying.”

        _No lie,_ I sign slowly. 

       “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Lady,” Jace says quickly, turning to the Queen.

       “Look to her fingers and tell me she didn’t lick them clean,” is all the Queen says in reply. Clary and everyone else stares at her hand.

       “Of blood,” the red had protests. “One of the sprites bit my finger—it was bleeding—“

       In an attempt to prove the Seelie Queen wrong, she makes for the vine curtain. She doesn’t make it within a foot of the exit. The redhead turns to Jace, apprehension written all over her face.

       “It’s true.” My _parabatai’s_ face is flushed. _Anger, annoyance, fear._

       “I suppose I should have expected a trick like that,” he says, previous flirtatiousness gone. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from us?”

       “Perhaps I am only curious,” the Queen replies softly. “It is not often I have young Shadowhunters so close within my purview. Like us, you trace your ancestry to heaven: that intrigues me.”

       “But unlike you, there is nothing of hell in us,” Jace counters.

       “You are mortal; you age; you die,” the Queen replies dismissively. “If that is not hell, pray tell me, what is?”

       “If you just want to study a Shadowhunter, I won’t be much use to you,” Clary pipes up. “I don’t know anything about Shadowhunting. I hardly have any training. I’m the wrong person to pick.”

       “In truth, Clarissa Morgenstern, you are precisely the right person,” the Queen corrects, eyes gleaming with something like glee. “Thanks to the changes your father worked in you, you are not like other Shadowhunters. Your gifts are different.” 

       “My gifts?” the redhead asks, bewildered.

       “Yours is the gift of words that cannot be spoken,” the Queen says imperiously. “Your brother’s is the Angel’s own gift. Your father made sure of it, when your brother was a child and before you were ever born.” Her gaze settles upon me. “Yours is the gift of Algol himself, your twin’s that of Tophet. As for the others… “ I screw my face up in disgust.

       “My father never gave me anything,” Clary says, voice wobbly but otherwise strong. “He didn’t even give me a name.” Jace’s face remains blank.

       “While the Fair Folk do not lie, they can be lied to,” my _parabatai_ says. _Restlessness_  is churning under my skin, and I struggle to keep it in check. “I think you have been the victim of a trick or joke, my lady. There is nothing special about myself, my sister or my cousin.”

       “How deftly you downplay your charms,” the Queen laughs. “Though you must realize that one of your cousins is not the usual sort of human, Jonathan… “ She looks from Clary to Jace, and then to me. “Could it be that you do not know?” the faerie murmurs.

       “I know that I will not leave my sister here in your court,” my blonde _parabatai_ replies smoothly, “and since there is nothing to be learned from either her or myself, perhaps you could do us the favor of releasing her?” The Queen’s smile is terrible, an omen of bad tidings.

       “What if I told you she could be freed by a kiss and a single wish?” the faerie replies vaguely. 

       “You want Jace to kiss you?” Clary asks, confused. I gag, all pretenses discarded, but a seed of dread has been planted in my gut and it’s growing like a weed. In response, the Queen and her courtiers burst out laughing.

       “Despite his charms, that kiss will not free the girl,” the Queen says, sobering. Everyone looks at each other, startled.

       “I could kiss Meliorn,” Izzy suggests.

       “Nor that. Nor any one of my Court,” the Queen interjects. I raise my hands hesitantly.

        _Wish?_  The Queen looks at me like I’m a new toy that she’s wanted for an eternity, a smile curling the corner of her beautiful mouth.

       “That’s up to you, Jessamine.” I tamp down the urge to strangle the faerie, clenching my fists. Why does everyone insist on calling me that horrible name?

        _J-E-S-S-A,_ I sign out slowly. Isabelle looks at the rest of us, throwing her hands up into the air.

       “I’m not kissing any of you,” she says firmly. “Just so it’s official.” The black-haired beauty’s gaze lingers on me. “Okay, I might kiss Jessa, but that’s only as a last resort.” I roll my eyes.

       “That hardly seems necessary,” Simon interjects. “If a kiss is all… “ The mundane moves to my red-haired cousin, taking her by the elbows.

       “No,” the Queen says firmly. “That is not what I want either.” Isabelle rolls her eyes.

       “Oh, for the Angel’s sake. Look, if there’s no other way of getting out of this, I’ll kiss Simon or Jessa. I’ve kissed Simon before, it wasn’t that bad.”

       “Thanks,” the aforementioned mundane says dryly. “That’s very flattering.”

       “Alas,” the Queen says, not sounding very devastated, “I’m afraid neither of those will do either.” 

       “Well, I’m not kissing Jessa or the mundane,” my _parabatai_ declares. “I’d rather stay down here and rot.”

       “Forever?” Simon asks dubiously. “Forever’s an awfully long time.” The blonde raises his eyebrows.

       “I knew it. You want to kiss me, don’t you?” The brunette in question throws his hands up in exasperation.

       “Of course not. But if—“

       “I guess it’s true what they say,” Jace observes. “There are no straight men in the trenches.”

        _Atheists_ (a mixture of the signs ‘no’ and ‘faith’], _fuckstick_ [a mixture of ‘fuck’ and ‘stick’], I correct. Surveying our group, I frown. _Not kissing anyone._

       “While this is all very amusing, the kiss that will free the girl is the kiss that she most desires,” the Queen interjects coolly. “Only that and nothing more.” The look on Simon’s face is similar to one of a murdered person. Clary seems to be frozen.

       “Why are you doing this?” Jace demands. _Disgust, desire, reluctance, why?_

       “I rather thought I was offering you a boon,” the Queen replies gleefully. _Disgust, desire, embarrassment._ My brother flushes, but doesn’t say anything, avoiding looking at his sister.

       “That’s ridiculous,” Simon objects. “They’re brother and sister.” The faerie shrugs delicately, the single movement perfectly communicating her glee at the situation.

       “Desire is not always lessened by disgust. Nor can it be bestowed, like a favor, to those most deserving of it. And as my words bind my magic, so you can know the truth. If she doesn’t desire his kiss, she won’t be free.” Glacial blue eyes pin their gaze on me. “And you, Jessamine, must say aloud your wish. That secret which has eaten away at your soul since the moment you last set eyes on your uncle.” The wish pops straight into my mind, and I bite my lip, frowning. That’s only the surface of my emotions.

       Jace must be getting a fucking tornado of reluctance, fear, dread and terror. _Wonder, worry._ I take a shaky breath, preparing myself for the darkest secret that I’ve kept and nurtured and protected in my mind since I’d first discovered Valentine was my uncle. And I prepare myself for the terror of speaking out loud. I may have yelled at the Inquisitor, but I was fueled by anger and pain, the two most volatile emotions that I never let take control. But I have a lot of that bottled up, and I call on it now. 

       Rage, because the Queen had no right to make me do this. Because my mind is my own, and she has no right to pry, no more than The Silent Brothers had had. Pain, because this will be something that I wish I hadn’t have thought. My eyes narrow, and at that moment the glamour on my hair flickers before fading, revealing my orange hair for the Seelie Court. There are gasps of astonishment, a few stray titters and a surge of _worry_ from Jace. Fisting my hands, I nod to my _parabatai_. The blonde moves towards Clary, trance-like, before muttering something into her ear. And then he bends down, lips meeting hers.

       “I wish I had never killed my father,” I choke out, the words practically burning my lips. “I wish that I’d let him kill me instead. I wish that I wasn’t alive.” There’s silence in the room, and nobody in my group meets my eyes. My nails dig into my palms. _Joy, embarrassment, worry, desire, disgust._ Jace and Clary finally separate. My _parabatai_ has _anger_ rolling off of him in waves, gaze tense and furious. Clary looks quite dazed.

       “Was that good enough?” the blonde demands, facing the Queen. “Did that entertain you?” The Queen has a single hand across her mouth, concealing a smile.

       “We are quite entertained,” she replies. “But not, I think, so much as the both of you.” Her blue-eyed gaze switches to me. “And, Jessamine. What I have asked you to do may have taken its toll on you, but you must learn to speak again. For if you cannot speak, then you will not… fly far in life. And, even if you choose not to believe me, I truly regret what happened to your twin. No mortal deserves that.” I grit my teeth. The Queen’s attention returns to the audience at large, as if she hadn’t spoken to me at all.

       “I can only assume that mortal emotions amuse you because you have none of your own,” my _parabatai_ grits out. I let out a sharp breath, hand grasping Jace’s arm and pulling him back.

       “Can you leave now?” Isabelle murmurs to Clary. “Are you free?” The redhead has a look of dread on her face as she goes over to the door. This time, she isn’t stopped. My cousin stands stock-still, hand among the vines, before turning back.

       “We should go,” Clary almost whispers. “Before it’s too late.”

       “It’s already too late,” Simon says darkly. I want to throw something at the Queen. Preferably one of my many knives.


	15. Chapter 15

      Meliorn leads us from the Seelie Court, accompanying us all the way out of the pond before turning away without a word to anyone, even Isabelle. The Lightwood girl watches him go with a scowl.

        “He is so broken up with.” Jace makes a sound, something like a choked laugh, flipping the collar of his jacket up. We’re all freezing and soaked to the bone, having waded through Turtle Pond twice. “We’d better get back,” Isabelle says. “Before we freeze to death.”

        “It’s going to take forever to get back to Brooklyn,” Clary complains. “Maybe we should take a taxi.”

        “Or we could just go to the Institute,” Izzy suggests. “No one’s there anyway—they’re all in the Bone City, looking for clues. It’ll just take a second to stop by and grab your clothes, change into something dry. Besides, the Institute is still your home, Jace.” 

        “It’s fine,” my  _parabatai_ says, much to his adoptive sister's surprise. “There’s something I need from my room there anyway.” Clary hesitates.

        “I don’t know. I might just grab a cab back with Simon.” My brother looks at my cousin, eyebrows raised.

        “That might be a little difficult, seeing that he left already.”

       “He what?” Clary exclaims, whirling around. Sure enough, the mundane is gone, leaving just the four of us at the pond. The redhead turns heel, running a little ways up the hill and calling Simon’s name. She repeats his name a few more times, but nothing happens. I turn on heel, tucking my nose into my soaking hoodie and pressing my wings close as I make my way to the Institute, not caring if the others follow or not. 

        They do, hanging a little ways back. Nobody speaks the entire way there, and no one makes a single attempt to break the silence in the elevator either. True to Izzy’s word, the Institute is deserted. Well, almost. Max is asleep in the foyer, probably having dozed off by accident since his glasses are slightly askew. A book lies open on the floor where he’d most likely dropped it, and his feet dangle over the edge of the couch in an almost uncomfortable manner.

        “Max is like a cat,” Jace says for Clary’s benefit as well as mine. “He can sleep anywhere.” My _parabatai_ reches for Max’s glasses, taking them off of the boy’s face and setting them on a nearby table. 

        “Oh, leave his stuff alone—you’ll just get mud on it,” Izzy scolds with a frown, unbuttoning her wet coat. The dress underneath clings to her, water darkening the leather belt around her waist. “I can feel a cold coming on,” the Lightwood girl mutters. “I’m going to take a hot shower.” The rest of us watch her go, disappearing down the corridor.

        “Sometimes she reminds me of the poem,” Jace says out loud. ‘Isabelle, Isabelle, didn’t worry. Isabelle didn’t scream or scurry—“

        “Do you ever feel like screaming?” my cousin interrupts suddenly. I don’t hesitate before nodding.

        “Some of the time,” Jace says, shrugging his wet coat off and hanging it next to Izzy’s. “She’s right about the hot shower, though. I could certainly use one.”

        “I don’t have anything to change into,” Clary says. “I’ll just wait for you here.”

       “Don’t be stupid,” my _parabatai_ replies dismissively. “I’ll lend you a T-shirt.” The redhead looks away.

       “I don’t think—“

       “Come on,” Jace says firmly. “There’s something I want to show you, anyway.” They leave, and I stand in the foyer, alone except for the sleeping Max. I look at the sleeping boy from a moment, calling up a memory of him awake. Compared to his sleeping form, he looks more peaceful and relaxed, less worry on his young face. Sighing, I turn and strip off my hoodie, wringing it out and hanging it on the hook farthest from everyone else’s. I shake my wings out, water pouring down, almost like a waterfall except, y’know… smaller.

       Stripping off my shoes and socks, I pad to the kitchen, looking forward to the hot mug of coffee that awaits me there. But no matter how much I look forward to that, worry about Simon lingers at the back of my brain. I don’t know why. In my opinion, the mundane is a bit annoying. But he did save my life when we were fighting Abbadon. Shaking my head, I stand on my toes to reach a mug, coffee machine already on and working.

        **Seeing him take down Abbadon should reassure me that he can take care of himself,** I scold myself. **Pull yourself together.** Once my coffee is done, I take the warm beverage and bring it to my room, chugging it before getting in the shower. It’s a tight fit, but I press my wings to my back for the majority of the time. 

       Showering gives me far too much time to think, so I try to make it as quick as possible in order to avoid thinking too much. No such luck, because my mind inevitably turns to how much was revealed in the Seelie Court. Things that definitely weren’t mine to share, because Jak needs all the space he can get when it comes to this. I wonder about the eventual bomb that’s inevitably going to drop when the others find out, and if Jak will ever be able to recover from that. 

       The answer that I know but pointedly ignore is no. No, he wouldn’t be able to bounce back from that. 

       Coming out, I towel myself off and get dressed in the extra clothes I’d left at the Institute. Snagging the mug from my untouched bedside, I take it down to the kitchen, fully intending to make myself another cup. The sound of a doorbell bars me from my intentions, and I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face as I set my mug on the nearest flat, horizontal surface. I make my way to the door of the Institute at a brisk pace, tapping my foot impatiently against the floor of the elevator. The lift dings when the doors open, and I grip Jehoel tightly when I don’t see anyone in the church. 

* * *

        ** _“She looks terrible: bags under her amber eyes, chocolate-brown hair lank and hanging around her gaunt face like a drab curtain, skin pale as a vampire, shaking hands and darting eyes. Jessa is practically buried in a massive hoodie and a pair of sweats, feet clad in obnoxiously green socks. But the moment she sees me, all the weaknesses disappear, replaced by a flawless facade.”_**

**_—Raphael Santiago_ **

* * *

       Carefully, I make my way over to the doors of the church, pushing them open gingerly. And the moment I do, I see the familiar face of one Raphael Santiago. I let my arm drop with a groan, turning on heel.

       “No, no, no, I am not doing this at ass o’clock in the morning. Come back tomorrow night, or—“

       I wheel back around abruptly, realizing that Raphael had been holding something rather large. I lose my grip on Jehoel, the seraph blade clattering to the stone floor of the church as I inspect the bundle in the vampire’s arms closely. It’s someone very dead, arms and legs dangling like limp ropes, head fallen back to reveal a severely mangled throat. And the face is familiar, a shock of brown hair over a pair of brown eyes. Simon's missing his glasses The ding of the elevator sounds behind me, and I hear a scream. I whip around quickly, just in time to see Isabelle snatch up an empty candelabra, pointing it at Raphael like a spear.

       “What have you done to Simon?” Clary demands, clear and commanding despite the scream that she’d let out earlier.

       “El no es muerto,” the vampire replies flatly, lacking emotion. I relax. The mundane isn’t dead yet. The pale-skinned vampire kneels, laying Simon down on the stone floor with surprising gentleness.

       “Did you say—”

       “He isn’t dead,” I murmur quietly. My eyes flicker to my _parabatai_ , who’s lingering just behind Izzy.

       “He’s not dead,” Clary echoes in relief. With a jerk, the redhead breaks free of Jace’s grip on her, falling to her knees on the concrete and cradling Simon’s head in her hands, pulling him up into her lap. “Simon,” my cousin whispers, touching his cheek. “Simon, it’s me.”

       “He can’t hear you,” Raphael says matter-of-factly. “He’s dying.” The redhead’s head jerks up immediately.

       “But you said—“

       “I said he was not dead yet,” the vampire corrects. I bend down, scooping Jehoel up with shaking hands. “But in a few minutes—ten, perhaps—his heart will slow and stop. Already he is beyond seeing or hearing anything.” Clary’s arms tighten around her childhood friend.

       “We have to get him to a hospital—or call Magnus,” she insists.

       “Won’t help,” I murmur, ghosting over to Raphael’s side.

       “You don’t understand.”

       “No,” my _parabatai_ agrees, answer aimed at Raphael. _Guilt, worry, fear._ “We don’t. And perhaps you should explain yourself. Because otherwise I’m going to assume you’re a rogue bloodsucker, and cut your heart out. Like I should have done the last time we met.” The aforementioned vampire smiles without amusement. 

       “You swore not to harm me, Shadowhunter,” he reminds the blonde. “Have you forgotten?” I clear my throat.

       “He never actually finished that oath,” I point out.

       “And I never started,” Isabelle chips in. Raphael ignores her, zeroing in on Jace.

       “I remembered that night you broke into the Dumort looking for your friend. It is why I brought him here” —he gestured at Simon’s near-lifeless body— “when I found him in the hotel, instead of letting the others drink him to death. You see, he broke in, without permission, and therefore was fair game to us. But I kept him alive, knowing that he was yours.” Raphael glances at me. “And to make up for the last time we met. I have no wish for a war with the Nephilim.” 

       “He broke in?” Clary asks, disbelieving. “Simon would never do anything that stupid and crazy.”

       “Obviously he did,” I point out. Raphael elbows me in the stomach. It’s kinda mortifying that, at the moment, my dead, vampire friend has better social skills than me. Or, at least, better control of his sarcasm. 

       “He was afraid he was becoming one of us, and he wanted to know if the process could be reversed,” the pale-skinned vampire says. “You might remember that when he was in the form of a rat, and you came to fetch him from us, he bit me.”

       “Very enterprising of him,” Jace comments. “I approved.”

       “Perhaps,” the vampire replies dismissively. “In any case, he took some of my blood into his mouth when he did it. You know that is how we pass out powers to each other. Through the blood.” 

       “He thought he was turning into one of you,” my cousin says faintly. “He went to the hotel to see if it was true.”

       “Yes,” Raphael confirms. “The pity of it is that the effects of my blood would probably have faded over time had he done nothing. But now—“

       He gestures at the mundane’s body expressively.

       “Now what?” Isabelle demands, a sharp edge to her voice. “Now he’ll die?” I lean on Raphel subtly, too shaky to stand straight in my own.

       “And rise again,” the vampire agrees. “Now he will be a vampire.” The candelabra in the Lightwood girl’s hands tips forwards as her eyes widen in shock, which is mirrored by Jace through the _parabatai_  bond.

       “What?” she exclaims.

       “Way to sugarcoat it,” I murmur tiredly. Jace snatches the candelabra our of the air as Izzy’s grip fails completely. His eyes are bleak as he turns to Raphael. 

       “You’re lying.” I snort derisively, stuffing my hands in my pockets. **I wish.**

       “Wait and see,” the vampire counters. “He will die and rise as one of the Night Children. That is also why I came. Simon I one of mine now.”

       “There’s nothing that can be done?” Isabelle demands, panic tinging her edged voice. “No way to reverse it?” For Shadowhunters, they don’t know a lot about Downworlders. I tip my head back, a derisive smile adorning my lips.

       “You could always cut his head off and burn his heart in a fire, but something tells me that that isn’t something that’s on the menu,” I comment.

       “No!” Clary exclaims, arms noticeably tightening around Simon. “Don’t you dare hurt him.” I scowl. 

       “He’s my friend too!” Raphael places a balancing hand on my arm.

       “I wasn’t talking to you,” my cousin bites out, not looking up. _Guilt, reluctance, shame._

       “Don’t you even think about it,” I say quickly. “Jace, don’t do something that you’re going to regret.” There’s a beat of silence as my _parabatai_ hesitates.

       “Clary, what would Simon want? Is this what he’d want for himself?” the blonde asks gently. And then there’s the biggest burst of _fear_ through the bond, overwhelming me.

       Choking back a cry, I turn and bolt out of the church. I stop just as I’m about to go off of the sidewalk of the Institute, teetering on the edge of the curb. And then I collapse, knees hitting the road in front of me, feet resting on the sidewalk. The others give me a few minutes to myself, and by the time they emerge from the church, I’m ready for them. My eyes are closed tightly, hands balled up into fists and entire body on the sidewalk now.

       Raphael rests his hand on my shoulder.

       “Come, él ángel,” he murmurs. “Your cousin has made up her mind.” I breathe deeply through my nose.

       “No me llames así no soy un ángel,” I mutter, a bitter smile twisting my lips. **Don’t call me that. I’m not an angel.** It seems like everyone but the Shadowhunters know about my wings. It’s only a matter of time.

       “Simon is to become one of the Night Children tonight,” Raphael says, so quietly that only I can hear. I nod stiffly, standing.

       “I’ll text Magnus. He’ll bring the blood.” Raphael nods affirmatively, leading me back inside behind the others. 

       I take out my phone.   
You, 12:00 p.m  
Mags?

Sparkles, 12:00 p.m.  
Finally. Was beginning 2 worry that the Queen decided 2 keep u

You, 12:00 p.m  
Close call. Couldn’t get enough of my charming demeanor. Need u 2 come 2 cemetery in Queens. Bring blood.

Sparkles, 12:00 p.m.  
R u a vamp???

You, 12:00 p.m.  
No. Simon is.

Sparkles, 12:01 p.m.  
… that was supposed 2 b a joke

Sparkles, 12:01 p.m.  
What time?

  
       Raphael takes us to the cemetery in Queens, where apartments turn into rows of Victorian-esque houses painted in varying shades of gingerbread. Raphael carries Simon, and I carry two shovels and a bag. The gates to the church are locked, and Jace uses his stele to open them. He leads the way inside, but we all know that Raphael is really the one in charge. Sure enough, the vampire takes the lead quickly, leading us to a copse of trees, beginning to dig where the trees provide cover.

       I don’t help, instead choosing to sit with my back against the trunk of a nearby tree, gaze fixed on Simon’s body even as Raphael wraps it in a white sheet, lowering it into the makeshift grave with Isabelle. When Simon’s body is out of sight, I look up dully. My eyes meet a pair of mismatched ones, one gold and the other pitch black.

       “Where’d you come from?” I ask my twin listlessly. The silver and black-haired boy points wordlessly, and I turn my head ever so slightly to see both Alec and Magnus talking quietly with Isabelle, my cousin and my other  _parabatai_. He then steps forward, tugging me up and wrapping me in his warm embrace. Instinctively, I cuddle into his warmth.

       “Jesus, it’s cold,” Clary says, appearing next to us. “It’s as if it turned to winter overnight.” 

       “Be glad it isn’t winter,” Raphael cuts in. “The ground freezes like iron in the winter. Sometimes it is impossible to dig and the fledgling must wait months, starving underground before it can be born.”

       “Lovely,” Jak mutters into my hair.

       “Is that what you call them?” Clary demands. “Fledglings?”

       “Yes,” the vampire replies, meeting my cousin’s green-eyed stare steadily. “It means the not-yet or newly born.” Magnus catches his eye (not surprising. He’s glittering, even at this time of night. Morning. Whatever), and Raphael looks surprised for a moment before his face clears and forms a mask of neutrality. “High Warlock. I hadn’t expected to see you here.” 

       “I was curious,” Magnus replies. His glamour is down, cat eyes on display. “I’ve never seen one of the Night Children rise.” Raphael glances at my blonde _parabatai_ , who’s lounging against a tree casually, as if watching vampires rise is something he does on a daily basis.

       “You keep surprisingly illustrious company, Shadowhunter,” the vampire comments.

       “Are you talking about yourself again?” Jace quips, smoothing dirt with the tip of a booted foot. “That seems boastful.”

       “Maybe he meant me,” Alec interjects. Everyone looks at him in surprise, probably never having heard him make a joke before. The ravenette smiles minutely. “Sorry. Nerves.”

       “There’s no need for that,” Magnus says comfortingly, reaching out to touch the ravenette's shoulder. The latter moves out of range, and the warlock’s outstretched and falls to his side. I frown, eyeing Alec. _Fear, love, hope._ I send a twinge of _annoyance_ , because he really needs to get his shit together. Fuck Robert Lightwood and his opinions. Alec should be happy. 

       “So what do we do now?” Clary asks, hugging herself in an attempt to keep warm. I beckon her over, and Jak extends an arm. The redhead’s eyes widen in surprise, but she burrows into his other side. Raphael is smiling minutely, the tilt of the corner of his mouth barely visible.

       “It is always cold at a rising,” he explains patiently. I already know all this. “The fledgling draws strength from the living things that surround it, taking from them the energy to rise.” Clary shoots him a glare. It looks kinda cute, not at all threatening. It would probably work better if she wasn’t huddling against Jak for warmth. Isabelle drifts over, plastering herself to my side and leeching up some of my own body heat. 

       “You don’t seem cold,” the redhead on the other side snaps.

       “I’m not living.” The vampire steps back from the grave, gesturing for everyone else to do the same. “Make room. Simon can hardly rise if you are all standing on top of him.” As the rest step back hastily, a sort of pounding rhythm can be heard, coming from underground. A few minutes pass, in which Clary detaches herself from Jak’s side,stepping forwards cautiously. Isabelle slots herself into the space left. And then the ground bucks and heaves all of a sudden. A mountain of dirt heaves itself upward, and out of the center a hand explodes, fingers splayed and clawing at the dirt. Everyone remains on their feet except Clary. 

       “Simon!” she exclaims. The redhead scrambles to her feet, attempting to rush forwards, but Raphael catches he and yanks her back. “Let me go!” My cousin wriggles and squirms, trying to pull herself free, but Raphael is a vampire. He’s strong enough to hold and unmarked Shadowhunter. “Can’t you see he needs our help?” Clary cries.

       “He should do this himself,” the vampire replies impassively. “It’s better that way.”

       “It’s your way!” Clary snaps. “Not mine!” 

       She jerks herself out of his grip, and Raphael lets her, charging towards the grave just as it heaves again, throwing her back. A hunched shape forces itself to the surface, out of the hastily dug grave, fingers splayed like filthy claws sunk into the earth. The former mundane’s arms are black with dirt and blood as he tears himself from the earth. Simon only makes it a few feet from the crave before he collapses into the ground. Clary immediately surges to her feet again, rushing towards her friend. Her sneakers sink into the dirt. My eyes widen. 

       “Clary! What are you doing?” I yell. It’s the first time in years that I’ve yelled. My vocal cords protest. The redhead stumbles, ankle twisting as her foot sinks into the dirt. She recovers quickly, dropping to her knees beside Simon. He’s still as a corpse.

       “Simon,” she says desperately. “Simon, are you alright?” The brunette suddenly surges to life, looking at her. Then, with a sharp cry the fledgling knock his childhood friend to the ground, rolling on top of her. Raphael and I immediately shoot forwards, dragging Simon off of her thrashing and kicking. My cousin shoots to her feet, meeting Raphael’s gaze. I back away.

       “I told you to stay away from him,” he says, turning and kneeling by Simon where we’d set him down, a short distance away. He’s curled up, twitching on the ground. Behind me, Clary sucks in a breath. It sounds more like a sob.

       “He doesn’t know me.”

       “He knows you,” I say hollowly. “Doesn’t care.” Raphael looks to Jace.

       “He is starving. He needs blood.” The blonde, who’s standing white-faced and frozen (almost like a vampire himself) at the grave’s edge, steps forwards and holds out a bag. Nobody says anything. The vampire’s hand shoots oh, grabbing it and tearing it open before holding it out, red liquid dripping onto Simon’s face.

       “There you go,” Raphael croons. “Drink, little fledgling. Drink.” Simon snatches the packet of blood out of his fellow vampire’s hand, swallowing the blood inside with a few gulps. The brunette then tosses the packet aside, letting out a wail. Raphael is already ready with a second one, pressing it into his hand.

       “Do not drink too fast,” the elder says warningly. “You will make yourself sick.” I don’t know what he expected, because Simon ignores the Mexican completely, splitting the packet open and gulping frantically at the contents, eyes closed. While he’s preoccupied, Raphael turns to Clary. Everyone else has the same expression of horror and disgust on their face. Jak just looks faintly pained with a large amount of fear. It’s not directed at Simon, though.

       “Next time he feeds it will not be quite so messy,” Raphael says calmly. Clary turns and stumbles out of the clearing. Jace calls out to her, but my cousin ignores him, running once she reaches the trees.


	16. Chapter 16

       I go home with Magnus, Jak and Jace. Nobody speaks as Magnus conjures a Portal and we all step through one by one. Seeing one of the Night Children rise is a… disturbing thing to watch, to say the least. As soon as I step foot in the apartment, I flee to the safety of the rafters. Nobody bothers to come check on me. Eventually, I uncurl myself and go downstairs for some food. Not particularly wanting to face any of my family, I let my feet take me out of the door and through the sprawling layout of New York City. Jehoel is at my side and my jacket is stocked with smaller seraph blades, a visible rune drawn on my arm as a precaution. 

       It seems to burn into my arm more than usual, like it’s trying to tell me something. I ignore it as best as I can, avoid even looking at it. Because it’s just another reminder of the Seelie Queen’s words, about how I’m one of Valentine’s little experiments, why I can’t ever be normal. How it won’t do the same thing to me as it does for other people, all because I’m the one who drew it. 

       I don’t know why, but I end up in front of Luke’s. 

       The werewolf is climbing into his truck when I approach. Taking a single look at me, the alpha gestures to the other side of the truck. I climb in silently, sitting sideways with my legs tucked up underneath me, and he takes off.

       “Are you okay?” he finally asks. I let my head rest against the window, shrugging. Talking never was something that I took to. Neither was emotions. A long pause, and it’s probably the awkwardest thing that I’ve ever sat through. “Do you think Simon is in good hands with Raphael?” Luke finally asks out of the blue. I blink, genuinely surprised.

       “Yeah,” I reply after a moment. The single word is strong and full of confidence. Or… as strong and confident as my few words will ever get. But I do trust Raphael, the last incident at the Dumort notwishstanding. He let me use the TV there. “I’ve known Raph for a long time, and I know that he’s a fair leader. Even if he didn’t like Simon before, he’s going to do anything in his power to make sure that the transition is comfortable to Si.” Luke's hands relax on the steering wheel.

       “Thank you,” he says quietly. I blink, surprised for the second time in as many minutes. 

       “For what?”

       “For saving Clary and me from Valentine,” the werewolf replies. “I just realized that I never got to the thank you, what with you being in the Infirmary, the murders and everything else.” I nod slowly.

       “Yeah. You’re welcome.” Another pause, but this one isn’t broken and it isn’t as awkward. Luke drives to a bookstore and picks up some books and we head back to his, chatting aimlessly the entire way back. Right as we turn up the driveway, I put a hand on Luke’s arm, making him stop. “Isn’t that Maia?” I ask, eyes tracking a brunette figure in the yard.

       “Yeah,” the alpha werewolf replies, leaning forwards.

       “Wait, what’s that?” I ask, pointing. There’s something in Maia’s shadow, almost like a dog—except for the tentacles. Luke’s eyes widen, and he rolls down his window.

       “Maia!” he yells. “Maia, look out!” The brunette doesn’t hear us, continuing to walk. “Maia!” And then the demon pounces, knocking the female werewolf over. She screams, and I see her kick out, but the demon isn’t dislodged. She’s flung towards the house, where she lands, sprawled spread-eagle on the ground, just a little ways from the porch.

       “Run it over,” I say to Luke.

       “Are you sure that will work?”

       “Yes I’ve run one over before, do it!” The werewolf slams the gas and we lurch forwards. We catch the demon, the slimy thing smashing against the bumper of the truck, and the impact makes both of us jolt forwards. I have to throw out a hand onto the dashboard to catch myself. With my other hand, I fan out a deck of cards. In the glow of the headlights, I can see Maia’s huddled form. Cursing, I fling the door open and bolt, straight for the weregirl. Another expletive leaves my mouth as I gently prop the werewolf up against the side of the porch.

       Snapping the cards back into their place at my hip beside Jehoel, I press my hands over the front of her shirt, right over a tear at her shoulder where there’s blood. Footsteps as Clary and Simon come out of the house and a shadow falls over me.

       “She’s all right,” I reassure the others, taking one bloody hand away to scrabble for tape, gauze and bandages in my pocket. Maia groans. Abandoning my search for the medical supplies, I slap her cheek with the back of my hand lightly. The female werewolf’s eyes flutter open.

       “Maia,” Luke says, bending down at my side. “Maia, can you hear me?” The brunette blinks and nods, dazed.

       “Jessa?” she whispers, eyes locking on me. “What happened?” She winces. “My shoulder—“

       “Come on,” Luke interrupts. “We better get you inside.” I scramble to my feet quickly, stepping aside so that Luke can hoist his packmate up into his arms. “Clary. Simon. Come on.” Everyone heads inside and Luke lays Maia down on the tattered gray couch. I kneel down next to her quickly, pressing my bloody hands to the equally bloody gash. In the background, I can hear Luke send Simon for a blanket and Clary for a wet towel as I prop Maia up in one of the cushions. She’s talking to Luke.

       “I was coming across the lawn when—I smelled something. Something rotten, like garbage. I turned around and it hit me—“

       “What hit you?” Clary asks, coming out of the kitchen and handing me the towel. **We were about to find out** , I think irritably as I use the towel to replace my hands, using the corners to wipe at the excess blood as Maia’s face morphs into a frown.

       “I didn’t see it. It knocked me over and then—I tried to kick it off, but it was too fast—“

       “I saw it,” Luke cuts in, voice flat. “Jessa and I were driving up to the house and we saw you crossing the lawn—and then I saw it following you, in the shadows at your heels. I tried to yell out the window to you, but you didn’t head me. Then it knocked you down.”

       “What was following her?” Clary asks. **What is it with this girl and interrupting at important parts of a sentence?**

       “It was a Drevak demon,” the werewolf explains, voice grim. “They’re blind and track by smell. Jessa got me to drive the truck up onto the lawn and crush it.” My cousin glances out the window.

       “Why would it attack Maia?” A shadow of worry passes over her face and she drops her voice. “Do you think it was Valentine? Looking for werewolf blood for his spell? He got interrupted the last time—“

       Luke and I shake our heads.

       “I don’t think so,” the older werewolf says, speaking for the both of us.

       “Drevak demons aren’t bloodsuckers and they definitely couldn’t cause the kind of mayhem you saw in the Silent City.” He pauses, glancing at me. “Mostly they’re spies and messengers. I think Maia just got in its way.” Maia moans softly, eyes sliding shut. “Jessa’s going to pull your sleeve up so I can see your shoulder,” he says gently. “Is that alright?” The coffee-skinned werewolf bites her lip and nods. I carefully peel the towel away from the gash, reaching up and rolling the sleeve of her sweater past her elbow. 

       By now, the wound has stopped bleeding and the blood has dried into crust on the weregirl’s arm. Behind me, I hear Clary suck in a breath. The jagged cut is lined with thin black poisonous spines that line Drevak demons mouthes, all deeply embedded in the wound. I hiss out a slow breath, screwing my face up in disgust. Demons are gross.

       “What are those?” Maia asks, staring down at her arm in horror.

       “Drevak demons don’t have teeth; they have poisonous spines in their mouths,” Luke explains. “Some of the spines have broken off in your skin.” Maia’s teeth begin to chatter. 

       “Poison? Am I going to die?” I shake my head firmly.

        _Not if fast,_ I reassure her. The weregirl relaxes. It’s only later that I’ll realize that my speak in tongues rune wasn’t activated.

       “Jessa is going to have to pull them out, though, and it’s going to hurt,” Luke says calmly. My eyes shoot to the alpha werewolf. “Do you think you can handle it?” The brunette’s face contorts into a grimace, but she manages to nod.

       “Just… get them out of me.”

       “Get what out?” a certain newborn vampire asks, walking into the living room with a rolled-up blanket. He drops it when he sees Maia’s arm, taking a step back. “What are those?” he manages to choke out. 

       “Squeamish about blood, mundane?” the weregirl asks, a small, twisted smile on her face. She gasps. “Oh. It hurts—“

        _I know,_ I sign out carefully, removing the towel and wrapping it around Maia’s lower arm gently. Behind me, Luke takes out a thin-bladed knife from his belt and hands it to me. I’m vaguely surprised that my hands aren’t shaking as I take it. The werewolf on the couch, however, takes one look at it and squeezes her eyes shut.

       “Do what you have to do,” she says, voice small. “But—I don’t want the others watching. Luke can stay.”

       “I understand,” Luke says. The alpha werewolf shifts, turning to face Clary and Simon. “Go in the kitchen, both of you,” he commands. “Call the Institute. Tell them what’s happened and have them send someone. They can’t send one of the Brothers, so preferably someone with medical training, or a warlock.” I wave my hands to get everyone’s attention.

        _Sparkles,_ I sign. Everyone looks back at me blankly. I grunt in frustration, groping for my stele. Drawing a quick speak in tongues rune, I raise my hands again. _Sparkles,_ I repeat. _Get Sparkles._

       “Magnus?” Clary asks. I nod and she leaves, dragging Simon along with her. Breathing slowly I turn back to Maia, knife held steady in my hand. Then, closing my eyes briefly before opening them again, I slip it into the gash carefully, right next to the first spine. Leveling up slowly, I pry the deadly object out of the weregirl’s shoulder. 

~~~~~

       It goes slowly.

       Luke and I switch out about halfway through, and it goes a bit quicker after that. Once we’re finished, Luke says something about moving the car as I rebandage Maia’s shoulder, having dug out the necessary equipment from my endless supply of pockets. Picking the blanket up from the floor, I drape it over the weregirl, pulling it up to her chest.

       As soon as Maia is settled, I sigh and sink to the floor, head pressed against the sofa, eyes sliding shut. The past few days have been… taxing, to say the least. Maryse is back, Alec is stressed as fuck, the Inquisitor hates the Morgensterns and their guts, Jace is under house arrest, Simon is a vampire and Maia has just been attacked. Did I mention that Valentine wants to turn the Sword to the demonic? Because he does. 

       A light touch to my head has me starting, dislodging Maia’s light touch.

       “Oh, sorry,” the brunette says awkwardly, and a weak, bashful smile on her face. “It’s just… you looked stressed and I used to… used to comfort one of my old friends by running my hand through his hair. Is that okay?” I look at the werewolf for a moment, utterly perplexed. Nobody but Jak, Magnus, Alec or Jace had shown that they’d cared recently. And they were my family. But with Maia… I have no idea what to do. So I take the leap of faith and bob my head yes slowly, still uncertain that this was what I really wanted, settling down against the couch as the weregirl’s hand settles in my hair again. There’s a faint noise of surprise. 

       “Did you dye your hair orange?” Maia asks. “I could’ve sworn that it was brown just now…” I freeze momentarily, then relax just as quickly.

        _Natural_ , I sign carefully. The brunette’s eyes widen but she doesn’t comment any further, just begins to run her hands through my hair. It’s soothing and the rhythmic movements have me drifting off, eyelids sliding shut and head relaxing. But then Maia’s grip on my hair tightens all of a sudden and I let out a surprised yelp, pulling away to the sound of shattering glass. That has me flicking out a fan of cards and withdrawing a stiletto dagger hidden in my boot.

       “Maia?” I hear Simon ask distantly. “Are you alright?” 

       Maia simply growls in response, and the pieces all snap together in my mind. Simon is a newly turned child of the night. Maia is a child of the moon. Vampires and werewolves hate each other. Both of them have a keen sense of smell, constantly complaining that they each smell ‘funny’ to each other. Quickly, I point the dagger at Maia and the cards at Simon in warning.

       “Maia?” Simon asks agin, despite my violently shaking head and mouthed ‘no’.

       “Vampire,” the weregirl snarls. The vampire looks like she’d stabbed him.

       “Maia—“

       “I thought you were human,” the brunette snarls. “But you’re a monster. A bloodsucking leech.” I freeze, remembering those words uttered by another werewolf, directed at another vampire. That hadn’t had a very good outcome, and I pray to every angel that I can name that the same thing doesn’t happen here. 

       “He was human,” I mutter sharply. I’d let Maia know about my hair. She was smart enough to connect that to something unnatural, and yet she hadn’t pulled away. It’s not too big of a jump to talk to her especially since the situation calls for it. The two Downworlders stop and stare at me. “He got turned,” I continue, shoulders slumping. “Just a few days ago.”

       “Just like you were—“

       “Don’t you ever compare yourself to me!” Maia snarls, interrupting Simon with a lip curled in disgust. “I’m still human, still alive—you’re a dead thing that feeds on blood.” I heave in a shuddering breath, nearly dropping the cards and knife.

       “Animal blood—“

       “Just because you can’t get human, or the Shadowhunters will burn you alive—“

       “Maia,” Simon protests, stepping forwards. In a blur of movement, the weregirl lunges at the vampire, impossibly long fingernails raking his cheek. The brunette staggers backwards, hand going to his face, blood coursing down his face. The tang of blood in the air has me on high alert once more, dragging me out of my jumbled mess of memories. The hand with my cards rise, and I let three fly in quick succession. They zip past Maia, who’s crouched on the arm of the sofa, barely grazing her. 

       Instead, they pin her shirt to the sofa behind her, effectively immobilizing her good side. While she’s still recovering, I sheathe the knife and stride over to Simon, just as the door slams open to reveal a shocked redhead.

       “What the hell is going on here?” Clary exclaims, a dagger held aloft in one hand. I shake my head quickly, pushing Simon to face away from Maia. I risk a glance behind me. Maia snarls, teeth bared to reveal that they’re now strong, white pointed canines. I glance back at Simon, and see that his fangs have slid out. A quiet string of vulgar curses slips out of my mouth as I shove Simon into the kitchen, hands shaking ever so slightly.

       “What the hell is it with you?” I hear Clary demand of Maia. I push Simon down into a chair, snatching a tea towel off of the counter and running I under cold water. “Werewolves, vampires—you’re both Downworlders.”

       “Werewolves don’t hurt people, or each other,” Maia replies fiercely. “Vampires are murderers. One killed a boy down at the Hunter's Moon just the other day—“

       I huff out an irritated sigh as I turn the tap off, wringing out the cloth as Clary speaks.

       “That wasn’t a vampire. And if you could stop blaming each other all the time for every bad thing that happens Downworld, maybe the Nephilim would start taking you seriously and actually do something about it.” I hand Simon the rag, hands signing.

        _Good?_ The vampire can only nod shakily, pressing the cloth to his face and wiping off his rapidly-healing cheek. 

       “You’re lucky Simon isn’t as much of a bigot as you are, or I’d complain to the Clave and make the whole pack pay for your behavior,” Clary continues. I freeze, eyes widening in disbelief. That’s _Luke’s_ pack my cousin is talking about, not just any pack. You don’t just threaten to make Downworlders suffer because of a personal offense! If Clary wanted any hope of being able to fix what just happened, she should start by _not threatening the fucking antagonist_.

       “You don’t get it,” Maia growls. “Vampires are what they are because they’re infected with demon energies—“

       “So are lycanthropes!” Clary exclaims. “I may not know much, but I do know that.”

       “But that’s the problem,” the weregirl snaps. “The demon energies change us, make us different—you can call it a sickness or whatever you want, but the demons who created vampires and the demons who created werewolves came from species who were at war with each other. They hated each other, so it’s in our blood to hate each other too. We can’t help it. A werewolf and a vampire can never be friends because of it.” Simon makes a small noise. “Soon enough, Simon will start hating me just like I hate him. He’ll hate Luke, too. He won’t be able to help it.” 

       “Hate Luke?” Simon asks, face ashen. I don’t have time to answer before the sound of a door banging open interrupts the relative quiet of Luke’s house.


	17. Chapter 17

       I take off like a shot, hurrying out to see who it is with Simon at my heels. I was expecting Luke, but instead it’s Jace, Magnus and Alec, the warlock in a cape that’s decorated with crushed glass. Everyone blinks at each other in surprise for a moment, Magnus’ glamour flickering for a split second, revealing his cat eyes, before reverting back to normal.

       “What in the name of the Angel is going on here?” Jace demands in a sharp, deliberate tone that clearly communicates his annoyance. Clary glances around.

       “We had an incident. Jessa and I took care of it.”

       “Really,” my blonde _parabatai_ replies, tone heavy with sarcasm. “Then please explain why the werewolf is pinned to the sofa and the scent of blood is lingering in the air?”

       “You know words like lingering?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. As one, the whole room stares at me in shock. I’m pretty surprised at myself as well. I’ve been doing so much talking these days that I’m starting to wonder what the stress and fatigue are doing to me. Magnus clears his throat, breaking the stunned silence.

       “Jessa. Clary said that there was someone you needed me to help.” Glamoured eyes flick from Maia to me. “This is her?” I nod mutely, lips sealed shut.

       “I think she’s getting worse,” Simon pipes up, voice small but worried all the same. Sure enough, when I look at Maia I realize that the weregirls cheeks are flushed red with fever and residual rage, the rest of her face alarmingly pale. Like, vampire pale.

       “Get out of the way, mundane,” Magnus mutters with immense annoyance, brushing past the fledgling and stalking to Maia’s side. The brunette looks up at him, eyes unfocused. “I’m Magnus Bane,” the warlock says, voice honey-smooth and soothing. He extends his hands, blue sparks already beginning to dance at the tips of his fingers. “I’m the warlock who’s here to cure you. Didn’t they tell you I was coming?”

       “I know who you are, but… “ Maia’s is getting completely out of whack, becoming more disoriented by the second. “You look so… so… shiny.” Alec laughs, quickly stifling it with a cough. My adoptive warlock dad shoots him a weighted look as he raises his hands, weaving a shimmering blue curtain of magic around the weregirl. 

       “Where‘s Luke?” Jace asks tensely. There’s something in his eyes that I can’t place, but it’s giving me a bad feeling.

       “He’s outside,” Simon says. “I heard him say that he was moving the truck off the lawn.” My _parabatai_ exchange a look.

       “Funny,” the blonde one says, unamused. “I didn’t see him when we were coming up the stairs.” A string of curses runs through my mind.

       “Did you see his pickup?” Clary asks worriedly.

       “I saw it,” Jak volunteers, lifting a hand. “It was in the driveway, lights off.” Magnus looks over his shoulder with the rest of us, frowning.

       “I don’t like it,” the glittery warlock says grimly. “Not after a Drevak attack. They roam in packs.” I’m already unsheathing Jehoel before the words have finished leaving Magnus’ mouth.

       “Jessa and I can go check on him,” Jace says. “Alec, Jak, you two stay here, keep the house secure.” My cousin hops down from the table she’s perched on.

       “I’m coming with you.” I shake my head immediately, tucking my seraph blade under my arm.

        _No train. Not ready. Get killed. No._ Jace nods in agreement, grabbing my arm and tugging me to the door. Fast footsteps behind us, and then the redhead wedges herself between the two of us and the door.

       “Stop,” Clary says commandingly. I rake my hands through my orange hair, a scowl decorating my face. No, no, no. We don’t have time for this. Luke could be anywhere by now, and we need to know where he is. The longer Clary continues to be a cockblock, the less chance we have of finding the alpha of the Brocelind pack. 

       “I will knock you down if I have to, Clarissa,” Jace snaps, practically breathing on his sister’s hair.

       “Stop calling me that,” my cousin snaps.

       “Clary,” the blonde tries, voice low. “He’s my uncle not yours—“

       “Any uncle of yours is an uncle of mine, darling sister, and he’s no blood relation to either of us,” my _parabatai_ interrupts.

       “Jace—“

       “Besides, I haven’t got time to Mark you, and all you’ve got is that knife,” Jace continues, steamrolling over his sister. “It won’t be much use if it’s demons we’re dealing with.” Clary jams the knife point-first into the wall beside the door.

       “So what? You’ve got two seraph blades; give me one.”

       “Oh, for the love of—“ 

       Jace’s… ah, eloquent response was directed at one Simon Lewis, who appeared next to Clary with his hands tucked into his pockets.

       “I’ll go.” I stomp my foot in frustration. It’s childish, I know, but I am holding a goddamn seraph blade. If this doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to impale something that isn’t a demon. 

       “Simon, don’t—“ 

       “At least I’m not wasting my time standing here flirting while we don’t know what’s happened to Luke.” I throw my arms up in the air.

        _Thank you! Move your asses._ The fledgling gestures for Clary to move away from the door, the latter obeying rather reluctantly. I seize the opportunity, yanking the door open so forcefully that I can feel the hinges coming loose.

       “Luke?” Clary calls. Jace and Simon shush her, and I take quick stock of our surroundings. The truck is still in the driveway, a single door hanging open. The sound of low humming fills the air, it’s source most likely the pickup from what I can tell. Jace moves to the open door. 

       “The keys are in the ignition,” the blonde reports. “The car's idling.” Simon shuts the door as we back away.

       “How do you know that?” the fledgling asks, curious.

       “I can hear it,” my blonde _parabatai_ replies. “And so could you if you tried, bloodsucker.”

       “I think I liked ‘mundane’ better than ‘bloodsucker’,” Simon mutters as Jace lopes away with all the grace of a gymnast.

       “With Jace, you don’t really get to choose your insulting nickname,” I murmur in reply, pulling a flashlight out of my coat. “I got stuck with Big Bird. Come on.” Jace is circling the truck now, and all the shitty crime movies I’ve watched with Jak and Magnus come to mind.

       “Bring the light closer,” the blonde commands. I oblige, and my brother kneels down in the grass, skimming his fingers along the green. After a moment, he lowers the Sensor to the ground and it releases a series of loud clicking noises. “Definite demonic action. I’m picking up heavy traces.”

       “Could that be left over from the demon who attacked Maia?” Simon queries. 

       “The levels are too high,” my _parabatai_ replies. “There’s been more than one demon here tonight.” **Oh, the fucking _joy_. ** My brother rises to his feet. “Maybe you two should go back inside. Send Alec out here. He’s dealt with this sort of thing before.” 

       “Jace—“ 

       I cut my cousin off with a violent slashing motion, pointing at something that I’d seen out of the corner of my eye, by the East River. Jace’s gaze follows my arm, and he sucks in a breath before taking off like a shot. The rest of us follow him, and I shift Jehoel in order to draw a deck of cards. My legs pump faster, fueled by adrenaline, and I overtake Clary, Simon and Jace, arriving at the waterfront a good few yards ahead of them.

       My cards fly from my fingers, thrown blindly as I think their names, lighting up the scene before me. Two Raum demons stand at the edge of the East River, Luke on the ground at their feet in the process of being drowned. The cards flash by the demons, embedding themselves in the ground just past them; they hiss in response. As the Raum demons turn on me, I grip Jehoel tightly with both hands, thinking it’s name. The blade lights up with an angelic glow—and then the demons attack.

       One of them extends their tentacles impossibly long, grasping at me, and my blade blurs, making quick work of them. The pounding of feet signals the arrival of the others, and I grin, pressing my attack with Jace at my side. Ducking under a tentacle, I lunge past the Raum demon’s guard, shish-kebabing the thing neatly.

       Not even waiting for it to disintegrate completely, I turn away and search for the others. It’s a good thing I do. The other demon has pinned Clary, who’s wrestling with it furiously, trying to keep the tentacles from strangling her. As I approach, though, the Raum suddenly shoots away from the redhead, landing in a half-crouch a little ways off. The girl stumbles to her feet, drawing her blade.

       “Nasir!” she yells, blade outstretched and leveled at the demon. The demon skitters back, tentacles dancing, almost as if it was… afraid of her. Simon runs out of the darkness, a long piece of pipe in hand. The Raum facing Clary lets out a distressed hooting noise, before turning abruptly and making for the river. A gushing fountain of water is the only sign of the demons exit; it’s gone by the time we all gather at the riverbank.

       “What—happened?” Jace asks between gasps, bending over and panting, smeared with black demon blood.

       “I don’t know,” his sister admits. “It came at me—I tried to fight it off but it was too fast—and then it just left. Like it saw something that scared it.”

       “Are you alright?” Simon asks, skidding to a stop in front of us, not even winded. Then again, he doesn’t need to breathe anymore. 

       “Where did you get that?” Jace demands, indicating the pipe in the vampire’s hands.

       “I wrenched it off the side of a telephone pole,” the brunette replies, looking as surprised as the rest of us. “I guess you can do anything when your adrenaline is up.” I pull a face.

       “Or when you have the unholy strength of the damned,” I correct.

       “Oh, shut up, both of you,” Clary snaps. I roll my eyes.

       “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m actually silent more often than not,” I point out. My cousin sends me a glare. Jace shrugs.

       “It is true.” I sigh, sheathing Jehoel and bending down at Luke’s side. Checking his pulse quickly, I note that the werewolf is breathing but unconscious. However, his face is as pale as Simon’s and his flannel is torn at the shoulder, the skin underneath a cluster of circular red wounds where a tentacle must have gripped him, oozing a mixture of red blood and black poison.

       “We have to get him inside,” Jace says grimly. 

~~~~~

       Magnus is waiting for us on the front porch when Simon and Jace reach it, Luke sagging in between them. While we were out, Magnus had moved Maia into Luke’s room, so the alpha werewolf takes the couch.

       “Will he be all right?” Clary asks anxiously, hovering around the couch as the warlock summons shimmering blue fire.

       “He’ll be fine,” my adoptive warlock dad replies distractedly. “Raum poison is a little more complex than a Drevak sting, but nothing I can’t handle.” Magnus shoos her away. “At least, not if you get back and let me work.” I frown, making my way over to where Jace and Alec stand at the window.

       “The Raum demon just turned and ran,” my blonde _parabatai_ is explaining. “I don’t know why, but it did.” I rub my eyes wearily, slipping out of my oversized hoodie and stretching my wings with a relieved groan. Wrapping one of them around my shoulder and into my line of view, I inspect it with a critical eye. I’ll need help cleaning these damned wings. Alec’s eyes drift to my wings, filled with equal amounts of awe and disbelief.

       “Do you need help with those?” he asks softly. I bite my lip before nodding hesitantly. My _parabatai_ smiles at me gently, the way that people smile at a cornered animal. I feel like it should bother me, but it’s so familiar to me after so many years as an unofficial Shadowhunter that it doesn’t. “It’s okay if you don’t want it,” the ravenette soothes. I shake my head quickly. 

       “I… I do need help. To reach the parts where I can’t,” I admit. The ravenette smiles encouragingly.

       “I can help you clean them out before you go to bed.”

       “If there’s even room for me to go to bed,” I snort. Jace’s mouth quirks up in an almost-smirk, and Alec chuckles quietly. The moment is ruined, however, by a certain red-haired cousin.

       “He’s all right!” Clary exclaims loudly. Everyone hurries over to the couch, although my _parabatai_ and I at a much more sedate pace. Magnus backs away from the small circle of people, and I go over to him with a worried frown. The warlock looks exhausted and a bit blue in the face. I notice that he’s too tired to even keep his glamor up over his eyes. 

       “So he’ll live?” Simon demands of Magnus as I lower him into the nearest chair. “You’re sure?”

       “Yes, I’m sure,” the warlock snaps. “I’m the High Warlock of Brooklyn; I know what I’m doing.” Jace murmurs something much too low for anyone to hear, but I’m getting a slew of _worry_ , _anxiety_ , _anger_ , _fear_ from the two of them. “Which reminds me,” Magnus adds, drawing my attention to him, “that I’m not exactly sure what it is you think you’re doing, calling me very time one of you has so much as an ingrown toenail that needs clippping. As High Warlock, my time is valuable. There are plenty of lesser warlocks who’d be happy to do a job for you at a greatly reduced rate.” My cousin stares at the warlock, surprise written all over her face. **She’s not going to be the distraction any time soon,** I think mildly, fighting off the backlash of my _parabatai’s_ emotions. **Damn demons will see through that right off the bat.**

       “You’re charging us?” my cousin blurts. “But Luke is a friend!” I roll my eyes.

       “This might surprise you, Clare-Bear, but not everyone wants to be paid in hugs, kisses and betrayal.” Clary gives me a nasty look, and I stare back at her impassively. **Grow up, girlie.** Magnus has taken one of his magic blue cigarettes out of his pocket, observing us with golden cat eyes. 

       “Not a friend of mine,” he says, steering the conversation away from dangerous waters. “I met him on the few occasions when your mother brought him along when your memory spells were being refreshed or when Jak did something exceptionally stupid.” Brushing a hand to the tip of the cigarette, the glittery warlock lights it with multi-colored flame. “Did you think I was helping you out of the goodness of my heart? Or am I just the only warlock you happen to know?”  _Rage_ is slowly filling my insides, and I flick a careful glance at Jace. His hands are clenched into fists, knuckles white and fury sparking in his golden eyes.

       “No,” he snaps. “But you are the only warlock we know who happens to be dating a friend of ours.” My eyes widen, and a wave of _anxiety_ begins to wrestle with _fear_ and _anger_. Clenching my eyes shut, I dig my nails into my arm and attempt to sort out my emotions from my _parabatai’s_. Opening them again, I bite my lip harshly, glancing at Jak. My twin looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, and the room is getting suspiciously warmer for some reason. The room is silent for a few beats more. _Shock_ mingles with _fear_ , astonished _anger_ , _horror_ and pure _awkwardness_ —at least, until Alec breaks the silence.

       “Why would you say something like that?” the ravenette asks. The way his voice shakes rattles me to my very core, and his emotions of raw _fear_ and _betrayal_ clash with Jace’s _confusion_ and _hurt_.

       “Something like what?” my blonde _parabatai_ asks, the confusion showing both inside and out.

       “That I’m dating—that we’re—it’s not true,” our third _parabatai_ stutters out, voice rising and dropping sporadically as he fights to control it. Jace returns Alec’s betrayed look with a steady one, _calm_ washing over my insides. 

       “I didn’t say he was dating you,” the blonde says, “but funny that you knew just what I mean, isn’t it?”

       “We’re not dating,” Alec repeats, this time a bit firmer. _Panic_ and _fear_ are suffocating me, but the edge is taken off by Jace’s insufferable _calm_.

       “Oh?” Magnus asks scathingly. “So you’re just that friendly with everybody, is that it?” I shoot the warlock a warning glance, and he pouts as he cross his arms, leaning back in a moody slouch, but his mouth remains blessedly closed.

       “You don’t—“ 

       Alec pauses, _fear_ and _panic_ attempting to rip my head apart. Wrestling with the emotions that aren’t mine, I manage to keep them at bay just long enough for me to separate my own from Alec’s—righteous anger towards my _parabatai’s_ father, sympathy for the ravenette, exasperation with Jace—before everything becomes a muddled mess again. “I mean, you couldn’t possibly think—“ 

       Jace shakes his head, confusion edging it’s way to the front once again.

       “What I don’t get is you going to all these lengths to hide your relationship with Magnus from me when it’s not as if I would mind if you did tell me about it.” Alec’s face drains of all remaining color, turning a pale gray as he casts his eyes to me for help. Our blonde _parabatai_ turns to Magnus. “Help me convince him that I really don’t care,” he commands.

       “Oh,” the warlock replies softly, not even taking notice of the commanding tone. “I think he believes you about that.” _Confusion_.

       “Then I don’t…” 

       I clear my throat, and everyone’s head snaps to me. I almost back out of speaking, what with Alec’s additional _anxiety_ added to the mix, but I yank my emotions away from my _parabatai’s_ for a few moments.

       “Drop it,” I say softly. “He’ll explain in his own time.” _Relief_ mingles with _impatience_ , and I frown as I separate my weariness and exasperation from the tangle of emotions.

       “Explain what?” a familiar voice chimes in weakly.


	18. Chapter 18

       “Luke!” Clary exclaims, whirling around and darting to the sofa. “Do you remember what happened?”

       “Not really,” the alpha werewolf admits, one hand pressed to his face.” The last thing I remember was going out to the truck. Something hit my shoulder and jerked me sideways. I remember the most incredible pain—Anyway, I must have passed out after that. The next thing I knew I was listening to five people shouting. What was all that about, anyway?”

       “Nothing,” Simon, Clary, Jace, Alec and Magnus all chorus in eerie, never-to-happen-again unison. I think that it’s that that has Luke raising an eyebrow, but the werewolf lets it drop with a single, “I see.” It couldn’t be more obvious that something was wrong. 

~~~~~

       Since Maia is still passed out in Luke’s room, the alpha remains on the couch. Clary tries to give him the bed in her room, but the stubborn mutt practically glued himself to the couch. Eventually, my cousin gives up and goes to hunt down bed sheets. Alec and I retreat to the attic with an exhausted Magnus, where we put him on the inflatable mattress and watch him sleep. Eventually, I twist around and begin running my hands through my wings, digging my nails underneath each row to get to the gunk trapped underneath.

       My _parabatai_ shifts, moving to begin on my other wing. The two of us work in silence, Magnus slumbering in front of us, until we finish. Alec leaves without another word, and I walk him to the door, standing on the porch and watching his back disappear into the fog rolling off of the river.

       Heaving a heavy sigh, I tug my hoodie off of my waist and slip into it, burrowing into the warm black folds as I re-enter the house. It’s quiet, with everyone except maybe Simon fast asleep. I adjust Luke on the couch to ensure that he doesn’t fall off, soothe a sleep-mumbling Maia and peek in on Clary, who has Simon sitting at the head of her bed watching over my cousin.

       Jak has fallen asleep at the kitchen counter, head resting just beside a mug full of lukewarm hot chocolate. I can’t carry him, so I settle for grabbing a blanket and throwing it over my twin. It’s only once I come back down from checking on Magnus do I realize that we’re missing Jace.

       A cold, ominous fist of foreboding anxiety tugs at my gut, and I search desperately for any trace of Jace’s emotions through the _parabatai_ bond. Nothing, just traces of Alec’s _worry_ and _weariness_. Biting my lip, I grip Jehoel, which hasn’t left my side all day, and slip out onto the front porch. The fresh, crisp scent of dew-soaked grass clears my mind, and I breathe in deeply, eyes sliding shut as I sink onto the top step. Shutting all of my other senses down, I reach out to both of my _parabatai_.

       Alec is clear and crisp, and I can tell exactly where he is. But Jace… he’s blurry. I can’t pinpoint where he is, exactly, but he’s somewhere northeast of me. There’s nothing substantial, really, but what I do get is wisps of _weary_ and _anxiety_ mixed with the barest hint of _fear_. Since there’s nothing I can do that won’t get the blonde arrested, I resign myself to keeping watch over the entire house. Nipping back in for a blanket, I wrap the soft fabric around my shivering form, absently wishing for Jak’s warmth, and settle down for a long night. 

       The sun is due to rise in about two hours by the time Jace returns. Around midnight, I’d fallen asleep and woken up to Alec leaning against the porch railing, a cardboard box at his feet, and he’s here with me now, long, lanky arms wrapped around me underneath the blanket. The first hint we get of our _parabatai_ coming back is the flood of emotions that invade our minds. _Fear_ , _worry_ , _anger_ , _resentment_ , _bitter betrayal_.

       I hiss out a low breath when they hit me, their combined force equivalent to that off an emotional wrecking ball. And let me tell you: I wouldn’t be able to deal with a goddamn emotional tap. As I’m still reeling from the emotional flood, something gold that definitely isn’t the sun begins to come into view. It takes a few moments, but I manage to shake myself out of my daze and focus on the real world. And that real world involves Jace right now, because the bloody bastard is walking up to the porch this very moment.

       Alec and I both stand, the blanket wrapped around my shoulders like a cape, and watch as our _parabatai_ returns to us, speeding up once he catches sight of the two of us standing on the porch. _Anxiety_ flares briefly before being tamped down.

       “Jess?” Jace calls softly, rushing up the steps and stopping in front of me. “Alec? Were you two out here all night?” 

       “I wasn’t,” the ravenette replies. “Jessa was out here when I came back.”

       “How long were you out here?” my brother asks, looking at me with a hint of concern.

       “Why did you leave?” I counter. Jace doesn’t say anything as he turns away, slipping into Luke’s house silently. Alec stops to pick up the box, then follows me into the living room where Clary, Maia, Magnus and a zombie-like Jak are gathered around Luke, who’s still on the couch. There’s no sign of Simon; he must’ve left when I was asleep. They all look up when the three of us enter, and it takes me a moment to notice that Mags’ shaggy hair is hanging halfway to his shoulders in a glossy curtain, completely untouched by hair product or glitter.

       It throws me off even more—as if it were possible—because Magnus almost never looks like this. Over the years, I’d come to see the glitter as a sort of armor. Shiny armor, that made the warlock feel more like himself and less like… Well, less like his father. But I don’t get time to register Magnus’ relaxed look, because that’s when I notice that Maia is crying.

       “Everyone in a good mood, I see,” Jace observes. “Keeping up morale.” Alec and I both elbow our _parabatai_ , and I drift over to where Jak is rubbing soothing, methodical, robotic circles on the weregirl’s back as she scrubs at her eyes furiously. It’s slightly endearing how, even in pre-coffee, pre-sugar state, my twin automatically cares for the people around him. 

       “Crap,” the brunette mutters. “I hate crying in front of Shadowhunters.”

       “So go cry in another room,” Jace replies, voice cold and _parabatai_ bond void of any sympathy. “We certainly don’t need you sniveling in here while we’re talking, do we?” Maia leaps to her feet in a flurry of rage, defiance and shame, whirling out of the room like a tornado. Alec doesn’t bother trying to be discreet, he openly glares at the blonde as he jabs a sharp elbow into Jace’s side. Jak blinks at our blonde cousin, sleepy eyes conveying as much disapproval as possible. 

       “Talking?” Clary asks, completely disregarding Maia. “We weren’t talking.”

       “But we will be,” my brother replies, flipping down onto the piano bench in the corner and stretching his legs out. “Magnus wants to shout at me, don’t you, Magnus?”

       “Yes,” the warlock replies, tearing his eyes away from Alec long enough to scowl. “Where the hell were you? I thought I was clear with you that you were to stay in the house, and you had Jessa waiting on the porch, in the freezing cold, all night.” 

       “I thought he didn’t have a choice?” my red-haired cousin interrupts once again. “I thought he had to stay where you are. You know, because of magic.” Jak, even in his zombie-like state, manages to roll his eyes and mutter a semi-intelligible answer.

       “Exactly,” I translate. “Because of magic. How much magic was used on Maia and Luke? Do you really think that he would’ve had magic to spare to keep the fuckwit in the house? He trusted the bloody fucker to stay inside, but nooo. Even if the blood of the angels really pumps through his veins, he’s a right dickwad.”

       “You’re supposed to have the blood of Algol, whatever that is,” my brother points out, reaching forward to pick up a discarded cup of coffee. He takes a sip and makes a face, passing it to Jak.

       “Sugar,” he says by way of explanation.

       "Serves you right," I mutter snappishly, retreating into the kitchen to make myself a mug. When I come back out, Jak is chugging the coffee like it's the last cup on earth. 

       “Where were you all night, anyway?” Magnus finally asks sourly. “With Alec?”

       “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk,” the blonde replies. “When I got back, I bumped into this sad bastard mooning around the porch and Big Bird waiting like a vulture.” The warlock brightens.

      “Were you there all night?” he asks the ravenette.

        “No,” my _parabatai_ replies hastily. “I went home and then came back. I’m wearing different clothes, aren’t I? Look.” Everyone looks.

        “What’s in the box?” Jak finally grumbles. He’s halfway there, he only needs some sugar to get him started. Or, well… more sugar than what was in that coffee. 

        “Oh,” my raven-haired _parabatai_ says, looking at the box like he’d forgotten it. “Ah. Doughnuts, actually.” He opens the box, pushing my feet off of the coffee table and placing it on the free space. “Does anyone want one?” Everyone takes one. Jace wants two. I inhale three, Jak shovels down four and we’re currently working on our fourth and fifth respectively. Alec had gotten a lot of doughnuts.

        “There’s one thing I don’t get,” Luke says, sitting up. Everyone except Jak and me has finished off their sugar-laden piece of dough.

        “Just one thing?” Jace asks sarcastically. “You’re way ahead of the rest of us.”

        “The two of you went out after me when I didn’t come back to the house,” Luke says, looking at Clary and Simon with a grave expression. 

        “Four,” Jak corrects. I dip my doughnut in my coffee. “Alec and I stayed behind, but Jessa and Jace went with Clary and Simon.”

        “Fine,” the werewolf relents with a pained expression. “The four of you. There were two demons, but Clary says you only killed one. So what happened?”

        “We would have killed the other one, but it ran off,” Jace explains. “Otherwise—“ 

        “But why would it do that?” Alec cuts in shrewdly. “Two of them, four of you—maybe it felt outnumbered?”

        “No offense to anyone involved, but the only ones among you who seem formidable are Jace and Jessa,” Magnus counters with a snort. “An untrained Shadowhunter and a scared vampire…”

        “I think it might have been me,” my cousin declares. “I think maybe I scared it off.” The warlock blinks, glamour flickering before solidifying once again.

        “Didn’t I just say—“ 

        “I don’t mean I scared it off because I’m so terrifying,” the redhead adds quickly. “I think it was this.” My cousin raises her hand, turning it so that the faint lines of a Mark are visible on her inner arm. A beat of silence.

        “I’ve never seen that Mark before,” Luke finally mutters. “Has anyone else?”

        “No,” Magnus answers immediately. “But I don’t like it.”

        “I’m not sure what it is, or what it means,” Clary says nervously, lowering her arm. “But it doesn’t come from the Gray Book.”

        “All runes come from the Gray Book,” Jace protests, _confusion_ and _astonishment_ swirling through the bond.

        “Not this one,” the redhead denies with a shake of her head. “I saw it in a dream.”

        “In a dream?” Jace demands furiously. “What are you playing at, Clary?” 

        “I’m not playing at anything,” my cousin says passively. “Don’t you remember when we were in the Seelie Court” —Jace looks like he’s been slapped, and _fear_ surges in my gut. I’m sure I look exactly the same, because ‘Seelie Court’ brings up things that I’d rather forget. Especially my confession. Jak looks downright terrified— “and the Seelie Queen told us that our generation in our family were experiments? That Valentine had done—had done things to us, to make us special? She told me that mine was the gift of words that cannot be spoken, yours was the Angel’s own, Jessa’s had something to do with Algol and Jak with Tophet, whatever they are?” 

        “That was faerie nonsense,” Jace replies. _Uncertainty_. I take a gulp of my coffee to drown my  _parabatai's_ emotions. 

        “Faeries don’t lie, Jace,” my cousin insists. “Words that cannot be spoken—she meant runes. Each has a different meaning, but they’re meant to be drawn, not said aloud.” The blonde still remains doubtful. “Remember when you asked me how I’d gotten into your cell in the Silent City?” Clary presses. “I told you I just used a regular opening rune—“

       “Was that all you did?” Alec blurts out, _surprise_ reverberating across our bond. “I got there just after you did and it looked like someone had ripped that door off its hinges.”

       “And my rune didn’t just unlock the door,” Clary reminds him. It comes off more than a little narcissistic. “It unlocked everything inside the cell, too. It broke Jace’s manacles open.” The redhead sucks in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I think the Queen meant I can draw runes that are more powerful than ordinary runes. And maybe even create new ones.” My brother shakes his head adamantly.

       “No one can create new runes—“ 

       “Maybe she can, Jace,” Alec cuts in, sounding thoughtful. Briefly, I wonder why the ravenette is defending the redhead, but have to brush the notion aside as he continues to speak. “It’s true, none of us have ever seen that Mark on her arm before.”

       “Alec’s right,” my twin agrees. A pause, and then Jak perks up, dipping the last bite of his donut in my coffee. “Clary, why don’t you get something to draw on? I have a theory.” The redhead glances at Luke uncertainly, but when the werewolf nods quickly she stands and hurried out of the room. Once she leaves, the restless atmosphere of the room becomes nearly suffocating. 

       Alec paces over to the piano a few times. Luke shifts, making himself more comfortable. Jak helps himself to another donut. I finish my coffee. When Clary returns, I breathe a sigh of relief and Alec stops at the piano, leaning against it behind his _parabatai_.

       “All right, I got it,” my cousin declares, presenting a sketch pad in one hand for the entire room to see, a box of Prismacolor pencils in the other. Plopping down in a nearby armchair, she looks at Jak expectantly. “What do you want me to do?” 

       “What do you think?” Jace asks sarcastically, shoulders slumped and bearing an uncanny resemblance to a zombie. 

       “Jace, that’s enough,” Luke commands.

       “You said you could draw new runes, Clary?” Jak asks.

       “I said I thought so.”

       “Well, you’re going to try and do that with the sketch pad,” the silver and black-haired boy says, indicating the pad with a nod.

       “Now?” my cousin asks, surprised. Jak rolls his eyes.

       “Yeah, now. Why do you think I asked you to get the sketch pad? Ballet lessons?” The redhead flips the sketchpad to a blank page hesitantly, then stares at it for a few moments. Magnus’ eyes are glued to her with a tempered curiosity that’s somehow ancient. Luke looks like a hopeful, grizzled old dog and Jace’s expression holds a slightly terrifying blankness. 

       Alec, on the other hand, looks much too preoccupied with his own problems to care about Clary’s, while Jak’s mind has already wandered, gold and silver eyes glued to something outside. The sound of a pencil hitting paper snaps me out of my thoughts, and my twin jumps, eyes refocusing on our cousin.

       “I can’t just do it on command like that,” Clary declares dramatically. “Not without an idea.”

       “What kind of idea?” Jak asks skeptically.

       “I mean, I don’t even know what runes already exist,” the redhead explains frustratedly. “I need to know a meaning, a word, before I can draw a rune for it.”

       “It’s hard enough for us to remember every rune—“

       “How about fearless,” Jace cuts in quietly, silencing our _parabatai_.

       “Fearless?” Clary echoes.

       “There are runes for bravery,” Jak supplies with a thoughtful look. “But never anything to take away fear. But if you really can create new runes…” Everyone looks at Jace. The blonde holds up his hands in surrender. “Look, I just remembered that there isn’t one for fearless, that’s all,” my brother explains. “And it seems harmless enough.” Clary looks to Luke, who simply shrugs.

       “Fine.” 

       My cousin picks up her pencil once again, pressing the tip to the blank paper. In a cliqué sort of way, the white emptiness represented endless possibilities, something that I wouldn’t get to know until Clary deemed fit. Or whenever her superpower decided to work. And apparently that’s now, because the redhead’s hand is moving, strokes smooth and sure, although there’s a magical sort of shimmer to them for a few seconds after they are drawn. And then she stops. 

       “There.”

       “Cool,” Alec says, striding across the room to peer over Clary’s shoulder. Jace follows our _parabatai_ , grabbing the sheet of paper from my cousin and holding it up for us to inspect.

       “But does it work?” the blonde muses.

       “What do you mean?” the redhead asks irately. I roll my eyes.

       “He meant what he meant, princess. Does the rune actually take away your fear?” Jak bobs his head in agreement.

       “It’s only a drawing at the moment,” he says. “Paper doesn’t exactly feel fear. We’ve got to try it on one of us to know if it’s real.”

       “I’m not sure that’s such a great idea,” Luke says doubtfully. 

       “It’s a fabulous idea,” Jace says, tossing the paper onto the coffee table and slipping his jacket off. “I’ve got a stele we can use. Who wants to do me?” I shudder, taking the last bite of my donut.

       “That would be a no for me.”

       “A regrettable choice of words,” Magnus mutters in agreement. Disregarding both of us, Luke heaves himself off of the couch.

       “No,” the alpha werewolf says commandingly. “Jace, you already behave as if you’ve never heard the word ‘fear’. I fail to see how we’re going to be able to tell the difference if it does work on you.” I grin wickedly, exchanging a glance with my twin.

       “We could always go to Central Park,” Jak suggests. “There should be a duck out there somewhere.” My brother shoots the silver and black-haired boy a withering glare.

       “Never mind. But, for the record, I have heard of the word ‘fear’. I just choose to believe it doesn’t apply to me.”

       “Exactly the problem,” Luke points out.

       “Well, why don’t I try it on you, then?” Clary asks. I groan out loud, letting my head drop into my hands.

       “You can’t Mark Downworlders, not with any real effect,” I hear the alpha werewolf explain. “The demon disease that causes lycanthropy prevents the Marks from taking effect.”

       “Then…”

       “Try it on me,” Alec volunteers abruptly. “I could do with some fearlessness.” I stifle my overwhelming sympathy and regret. Because truth be told, Alec needs this rune most of all, be it to come out or stand up to his father. So I watch passively as the ravenette slips his jacket off, tossing it over the piano stool and moving to stand in front of Jace. “Here,” he says. “Mark my arm.” The blonde glances over at Clary uneasily.

       “Unless you think you should do it?” he offers. I can tell that he’s as uncomfortable with this as me. But the redhead shakes her head.

       “No. You’re probably better at actually applying Mark’s than I am.” And apparently, she can be pretty obtuse.


	19. Chapter 19

       Jace shrugs in what seems to be a careless manner, but the _parabatai_ bond says otherwise.

       “Roll up your sleeve, Alec.” Our _parabatai_ rolls up his sleeve, offering his arm to my brother. Extracting his stele from his boot, the blonde takes the ravenette’s arm and begins to draw. Everyone leans in, eyes glued to the where the stele touches skin. My raven-haired _parabatai_ winces ever so slightly, but other than that there’s no outward sign of his discomfort. Once Jace finishes, he steps back and tucks his stele into his pocket, admiring his handiwork.

       “Well, it looks nice at least,” the blonde announces. “Whether it works or not…”

       “At least you’ll have a pretty tattoo,” Jak drawls sarcastically. Touching the Mark with his fingertips, Alec looks up to see everyone's eyes on him.

       “So?” Clary finally asks.

       “So what?” the ravenette asks, rolling down his sleeve to cover the Mark.

       “So, how do you feel? Any different.” A thoughtful pause on my _parabatai’s_ part.

       “Not really.”

       “Well, that might be because there’s nothing to activate it,” Jak observes. Magnus glances at Alec, eyebrows raised.

       “Boo.” Jace grins.

       “Come on, surely you've got a phobia or two. What scares you?” Another thoughtful pause.

       “Spiders,” the ravenette finally decides. I raise an eyebrow. **You’re a Shadowhunter. You hunt demons. And you’re afraid of spiders?** Clary rounds on Luke.

       “Have you got a spider anywhere?”

       “Why would I have a spider?” the alpha werewolf asks exasperatedly. “Do I look like someone who would collect them?”

       “No offense, but you kind of do,” Jace replies dryly.  **Shouldn’t have asked that, Luke.**

       “You know, maybe this was a stupid experiment,” Alec cuts in sourly.

       “What about the dark?” Clary suggests. “We could lock you in the basement.” 

       “I’m a demon hunter,” Alec says, exaggerated patience tainting his words. “Clearly, I am not afraid of the dark.”

       “Well, you might be,” the redhead persists.

       “But I’m not.” The doorbell buzzes, and my cousin looks at Luke with raised eyebrows.

       “Simon?”

       “Couldn’t be,” the alpha werewolf replies. “It’s daylight.” Jak sighs, pushing himself to his feet and striding over to the door, fresh donut in one gloved hand. Flinging the door open, I see Jak’s hands shake, almost dropping the donut, and half-rise. Magnus shoots me a look, just as three familiar figures barge into the room, an unfamiliar one trailing behind. Zeroing in on the unknown variable, it only takes a glance for me to know that there’s something about them that doesn’t seem right.

       It’s a man, with a burly build and dark hair that contrasts his olive skin. A thick black beard conceals part of his lower face, and cold eyes the color of Magnus’ magic, just much darker and eviler, seem to bore into my soul. But while part of me screams for me to get away or kill him, another half mutters half-remembered memories. I know this man from somewhere—I’m just not sure where. 

       But then a certain picture found in the ruins of my cousin’s apartment comes to mind. And I know who the man is. He was standing behind my mother, Valentine’s sister, right beside his wife, Maryse. His name is Robert Lightwood, and he’s been abusing Alec for who knows how long. My hands curl into fists, and my eyes lock on him. He’s getting what’s coming for him. Soon, hopefully.

       A flash of movement catches my eye, and I split my attention between the Lightwood and Jak, whose gold and black eyes are fixed on the imposing figure of the Inquisitor. Rising to a standing position, I’m about to open my mouth when Alec makes his move. Blue eyes hardened with resolve, my _parabatai_ strides forward to place himself in between Robert, Imogen Herondale and a newly arrived Maryse and Izzy. His mother does a double take.

       “Alec, what on earth are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that—“ 

       “Mother,” Alec interrupts firmly, though not unkindly. “Father. There’s something I have to tell you.” I can feel my eyes widen, and Jak and I lock eyes from across the room. _Help!_ he signs. I bite my lip in worry, shrugging my shoulders minutely. **What do I do?** “I’m seeing someone,” I hear the ravenette continue.

       “Alec,” a low, rumbling voice says. It’s unfamiliar, and very much unlike the sharp tones of the Inquisitor and softer one of Isabelle while lacking the weary lilt to Maryse’s, so I assume it’s Robert Lightwood’s. Lightworm, more like it. I’m not sure where that comes from, but it seems a fitting descriptor for the abusive father of my _parabatai_. “This is hardly the time,” I hear the older man finish.

       “Yes, it is,” Alec replies firmly. Tearing my gaze away from my twin, I look at Magnus with an expression that hopefully screams ‘help!’ The warlock frowns. “This is important,” Alec says. “You see, I’m not just seeing anyone. I’m seeing a Downworlder. In fact, I’m seeing a—“ 

       Magnus’ fingers move almost faster than I can follow them, and with a quick flash of blue and a faint shimmer around Alec, the Lightwood boy’s eyes roll up and he drops to the floor.

       “Alec!” Maryse cries, clapping a hand over her mouth. Isabelle, who’s standing closest to her brother, quickly kneels at his side. My _parabatai_ has already begun to stir, eyelids fluttering open.

       “Wha—wha—why am I on the floor?”

       “That’s a good question,” Izzy replies, glaring down at her big brother. “What was that?”

       “What was what?” the other ravenette replies, sitting up and holding his head. A look of alarm crosses his face soon after, though. “Wait—did I say anything? Before I passed out, I mean.” Jace snorts from his place on an armchair.

       “You know how we were wondering if that thing Clary did would work or not?” he asks. “It works all right.” The look that crosses our _parabatai’s_ face mirrors the terror that’s unfurling inside me, despite it not being mine.

       “What did I say?”

       “You said you were seeing someone,” Lightworm offers flatly. “Though you weren’t clear as to why that was important.” I go through a string of mental curses, fists clenching and unclenching at my sides.

       “It’s not,” Alec replies nervously. “I mean, I’m not seeing anyone. And it’s not important. Or it wouldn’t be if I was seeing someone, which I’m not.” 

       “Alec’s been all over the place,” Jak quickly cuts in, gold and black eyes shining with a fear that only I can identify. “Probably a side-effect of the Drevak poison. It was bad last night, but he’ll be fine soon.”

       “Drevak poison?” Maryse demands, voice shall. “No one reported a demon attack on the Institute. What is going on here, Lucian? This is your house, isn’t it? You know perfectly well if there’s been a demon attack you’re supposed to report it—“

       “Luke was attacked too,” Clary interrupts. “He’s been unconscious.”

       “How convenient,” the Inquisitor comments scathingly. “Everyone’s either unconscious or apparently delirious.” The way that the older woman turns her gaze upon the werewolf sets me on edge. “Downworlder, you know perfectly well that Jonathan Morgenstern should not be in your house,” the Inquisitor continues. “He should have been locked up in the warlock’s care.”

       “I have a name, you know,” Magnus cuts in snappily. A pause, in which Jak shakes his head furiously behind the Inquisitor’s back. “Not that that matters, really. In fact forget all about it.” My twin facepalms silently.

       “I know your name, Magnus Bane,” the Inquisitor replies coolly. “You’ve failed in your duty once; you won’t get another chance.”

       “Failed in my duty?” the warlock repeats with a frown. “Just by bringing the boy here? There was nothing in the contract that I signed that said I couldn’t bring him with me at my own discretion.”

       “That wasn’t your failure,” the Shadowhunter says dismissively. “Letting him see his father last night, that was your failure.” A stunned silence fills the room. Alec scrambles to his feet, eyes searching for Jace’s—but my brother won’t look at him. His face is a mask. That’s enough of an answer for Alec, the swelling of _guilt_ in our guts confirming it. I don’t know whether to punch the blonde or hug him. I settle for hugging my sides, staring blankly at Jak. My twin looks back at me sympathetically.

       “That’s ridiculous,” Luke insists angrily. “Jace doesn’t even know where Valentine is. Stop hounding him.”

       “Hounding is what I do, Downworlder,” the Inquisitor replies imperiously, remaining infuriatingly calm. “It’s my job.” She turns her icy grey gaze on my brother. “Tell the truth, now, boy, and it will all be much easier.” I watch Jak’s hands curl into fists, fear shining in his mismatched eyes, right alongside his anger and determination. 

       “I don’t have to tell you anything,” my blonde _parabatai_ insists, holding his head high.

       “If you’re innocent, why not exonerate yourself?” the Inquisitor queries mockingly. “Tell us where you really were last night. Tell us about Valentine’s little pleasure boat.”

       “Imogen?” Lightworm rumbles. “You’re saying Valentine is—was—“ 

       “On a boat in the middle of the East River,” the Inquisitor finishes. “That’s correct.”

       “That's why I couldn’t find him,” Magnus murmurs, half to himself and half to the assembled audience. “All that water—it disrupted my spell.”

       “What’s Valentine doing in the middle of the river?” Luke asks bewilderedly.

       “Ask Jonathan,” Herondale replies smugly. “He borrowed a motorcycle from the head of the city’s vampire clans and he flew it to the boat. Isn’t that right, Jonathan?” Jace says nothing, continuing to stare at the Inquisitor stonily. I make a mental note to tell Raphael to quit loaning out the bikes. “Reach into the pocket of your jacket,” she orders. “Take out the object you’ve been carrying with you since you last left the Institute.” 

       Ever so slowly, Jace obeys. And what he draws out of his pocket is instantly recognizable to me. It’s shimmering a light blue-gray, jagged but still attached to part of the frame; it’s a piece of Portal mirror.

       “Give it to me,” the Inquisitor commands, not waiting for an answer before she swipes it from my brothers hands. Maryse makes a soft, surprised noise, but doesn’t do anything other than that. “I knew you’d return to the Institute for this,” the Shadowhunter declares gloatingly. “I knew your sentimentality wouldn’t allow you to leave it behind.”

       “What is it?” Lightworm cuts in confusedly.

       “A bit of Portal in mirror form,” the elder woman explains. “When the Portal was destroyed, the image of its last destination was preserved.” With long, spindly fingers, the gray-haired woman turns the shard over. Then, without so much as a warning, she dashes the glass against the floor. I flinch violently.

       I hear Jace suck in a sharp breath, but other than that the room remains still. Kneeling at the side of the powdered remains of the glass, the Inquisitor draws on a pair of grey gloves and sifts through the glass until she finds what she’s looking for—and that something is a single, thin sheet of paper, which she holds up for everyone to see as she rises to her feet. The tracking rune’s bold black lines stand out against the paper.

       “I Marked this paper with a tracking rune and slipped it between the bit of mirror and its backing,” Herondale explains. “Then I replaced it in the boy’s room.” She turns to Jace, expression smug. “Don’t feel bad for not noticing it. Older heads and wiser than yours have been fooled by the Clave.” 

       “You’ve been spying on me,” Jace says, tone matching the _anger_ that’s quickly eating away the _guilt_. “Is that what the Clave does, invade the privacy of its fellow Shadowhunters to—“ 

       “Be careful what you say to me,” the Inquisitor cuts in ominously. “You are not the only one who’s broken the Law.” I stiffen, hands fisted at my sides as the gray-haired woman's eyes sweep across the room. “In releasing you from the Silent City, in freeing you from the warlock’s control, your friends have done the same.”

       “Jace isn’t our friend,” Isabelle cuts in sharply. “He’s our brother and our cousin.”

       “I’d be careful what you say, Isabelle Lightwood,” the Inquisitor practically purrs. “You could be considered complicit and get your Marks stripped.” Jak takes a step forwards at that, and I can see the anger rising in his eyes, on the way that his gloved hands are clenched so tightly that I can practically hear them creaking. The donut is gone. Surprisingly, though, it’s Maryse who speaks up. 

       “Complicit?” the Lightwoods’ mother demands, drawing herself up to her full height. “Isabelle was simply attempting to keep you from shattering what remains of our family! For Angel’s sake, Imogen, they’re all just children—“ 

       “Children?” the Inquisitor demands softly, arctic gaze fixed on Maryse. “Just as you were children when the Circle plotted the destruction of the Clave? Just as my son was a child when he—“ 

       The elder woman catches herself, gasping softly.

       “So this is about Stephen after all,” Luke comments, a sort of pity tainting his words. “Imogen—“

       “This is not about Stephen!” the Inquisitor insists, just short of yelling. “This is about the Law!”

       “And Jace?” Maryse demands. “What’s going to happen to him?”

       “He will return to Idris with me tomorrow,” the Shadowhunter replies coldly. “You’ve forfeited your right to know any more than that.”

       “Hold on, back the fuck up!” Jak blurts, stepping forward, an accusatory finger pointed at Imogen Herondale. Fear shines through his eyes, but it’s overpowered by his defensiveness. “I spent a quarter of my life in that Angel’s-damned country, and it’s not something I’d wish on my worst enemy! You can’t take him back there!”

       “On the contrary, Mr. Morgenstern, I can.” Jak’s face purples, and his hands ball into fists.

       “I’m not a Morgenstern,” he snarls. “I’m not a Morgenstern any more than you are. His blood may run through my veins, but that is not something that any of us would have chosen!” 

       “Jak, don’t,” Jace begs.

       “You shouldn’t be the one getting punished!” Jak yells back.

       “Leave it, J!” the blonde insists. “If you want to get out of this unscathed, you need to leave it alone!” My black and silver-haired twin steps back in surprise, and I’m reeling from the onslaught of conflicting emotions from both of my _parabatai_. There’s plenty of _fear_ , lots of _anger_ , too much _resignation_ on Jace’s part to be healthy, and a smattering of _reluctance_ from Alec.

       Stumbling across the room, I throw a careless sign about fresh air over my shoulder, bursting out onto the porch and banging the door shut as hard as I possibly can. The entire house creaks as I slump against the railing of the porch, mind clouded with anger and my _parabatai’s_ confusing emotions. I could definitely understand why there were no three-way bonds until now; not only was it likely to kill all three Shadowhunters, the emotions are confusing, hitting me like battering ram after battering ram, knocking down the hasty walls that I put up to defend myself against them. And lately, the emotions seem to be getting stronger, more intense and more a part of me than I’m entirely comfortable with.

       But it’s intimate in a way that forges something deeper than friendship or platonic love. It’s not quite romantic, but it’s as close to a relationship that I’d be willing to get. My hands tremble, and a misty breath leaves my mouth, lingering in front of my face for a few seconds before dispersing into nothing. Crossing my arms to conceal the shaking, I walk down onto the grass and begin to pace, mentally berating myself without giving a single shit about whether or not my _parabatai_ can sense my nervous breakdown.

       I should’ve stayed far away from those Shadowhunters when I saw them at Pandemonium. I never should’ve interfered, should’ve just dealt with the mess later without a fuss. If I hadn’t interfered, then Magnus and Jak never would’ve been dragged into this. It was a risk that I was willing to accept at the time, but now I’m seriously regretting that. Getting attached to people was a weakness, one that could easily be manipulated, cloud your judgement and disrupt your focus.

       Meeting the Lightwoods and reconnecting with Jace was risky by itself, but getting attached was my fatal mistake. Nothing good ever lasts for long. I’d forgotten that lesson; this might be the universe’s way of reminding me. The door to Luke’s house bursts open, and Magnus stalks out in a whirlwind of righteous fury, barely sparing me a glance before flicking his wrist, making the door slam shut with enough force to compare to my own slam. The house creaks once again, and I glance up at it uneasily, before looking back at Magnus. 

       The sound of footsteps distract me from the warlock, and the door creaks open to reveal a harried-looking Jak. My twin all but sprints down the stairs and past me, catching up with our dad quickly. Turning back to me, he signs out a few quick words.

        _Angel go Institute. Follow. I take Sparkles._ Saluting the black and silver-haired boy mockingly to conceal my apprehension, I break into a light jog. If I hurry, I can probably make it there before the Inquisitor.


	20. Chapter 20

       The Institute is as silent as death when I arrive, shoving the stubborn elevator door to one side so that I can get in. Glancing around carefully, I tiptoe through the halls until I reach the weapons room. Cracking it cautiously, I slip in without a noise, pulling my phone from my pocket as I do so. 

You, 6:30 a.m

We plning jl brk/wt?

Significant Annoyance, 6:31 a.m

If we can. If not, just keep an eye on him

You, 6:31 a.m

Rogr tht. Hw’s Mags?

Significant Annoyance, 6:32 a.m

Raging @ the bitch. He’s fine

You, 6:32 a.m

Gd. B careful. Txt me if smthng hpens

Significant Annoyance, 6:33 a.m

Yes ma’am

       Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I look at the assembled weapon room in glee.

       “The perks of getting to the party early,” I mutter happily. Then I make my way towards a wall of knives, helping myself to whatever I can reach. 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

       I hear the elevator before I see anything. The shrieking sound of the brakes slamming into place echoes throughout the Institute, giving me plenty of time to cover my tracks in the weapons room and slip out, heading for Isabelle’s room. She’s least likely to care about whether or not I’m hiding from the Inquisitor, and I’m getting a fuckton of _anxiety_ from Alec at the moment, so it’s best if I let him work it out on his own before asking if he needs any extra help. 

       Although, I might have glossed over the stage of Izzy actually finding out I was in her room. Hence the seraph blade to my throat. Izzy and I both swear in unison, and the ravenette drop her blade, dark eyes raking over me critically.

       “The ends of your hair are turning orange,” the Lightwood girl points out. That’s as close to forgiveness that I’m going to get, so I take what I can.

       “I’ll ask Mags for the glamour tonight,” I mutter in reply, retreating to the vanity and perching on the stool. Isabelle sighs, tossing her blade into the bed and collapsing right beside it, burying her face in the pillow. A muffled scream can be heard immediately after. I raise an eyebrow. “Something you’re not telling me?” The black-haired beauty sits up, makeup smudged in places.

       “The Inquisitor took Jace to the training room,” she explains. “Mom is too scared to do anything. Alec is taking the old hag’s side and dad… he’s shut himself down. Max doesn’t know an better.” A cold fist of dread tightens around my heart, as I recall Alec’s words from that night on the rooftop of the Institute.

        **“How could I have been so stupid?”** he had said. As if he should have seen it coming. But he never should have. Nobody could have. But clearly, Robert Lightworm thought otherwise.

       “That’s impossible,” I force out through my locked jaw. “Alec loves Jace, I know that, I can feel it, he wouldn’t take the Inquisitor’s side without good reason, and even with that, he still probably wouldn’t even think about it. There’s got to be something else going on.”

       “Well, that something else better be good, because the Inquisitor is taking Jace to Idris first thing tomorrow morning,” Izzy mutters. I swear quietly, just as a soft knock can be heard from the other side of the door. Isabelle leaps off of the bed, pushing me off of the vanity stool and to the floor. I get the hint, wriggling underneath the bed as the Lightwood girl makes her way to the door, watching as she flings it open to reveal a pair of sneakers. 

       “Oh,” I hear her say. “It’s only you. Jessa, you can come out. It’s Max.” I breathe a sigh of relief, dragging myself out from the cramped, dusty space underneath Izzy’s bed with a wrinkled nose.

        _Need clean_ , I grump, settling down on the bed. _Dust_.

       “I don’t exactly make a habit of hiding people under there,” the ravenette replies, rolling her eyes. I raise my hands in surrender, fingers tapping on my knees restlessly. Another knock on the closed door shatters the momentary silence, and I roll underneath the bed without prompting this time. However, as soon as Isabelle opens the door, I can recognize the owner of the shoes that I see. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, I drag myself to my feet as Alec fidgets in the doorway.

       Izzy is glaring at her older brother in a stunning impression of her mother, and the twisting, unpleasant feeling of _unease_ ripples through me. I wrinkle my nose, batting away the emotions with a mental hand to clear my focus, mind wandering to other subjects to keep it occupied. Like the fact that I’m hungry, and Alec is currently holding an apple and a sandwich.

       “If you don’t get your sorry ass out of my sight right now, I swear to the Angel that I will jump out the window,” Izzy hisses at her brother. Alec’s eyes widen.

       “Look, it’s not what it looks like,” the eldest Lightwood blurts out, blue eyes wide and beseeching, begging his sister to understand. And that, with the emotional backlash I’m getting from the ravenette, makes everything fall into place. I let out a little “oh” of surprise, and Izzy turns to me with raised eyebrows.

       “‘Oh’ what?” she demands crossly, hands moving to her hips. “The two of you might have some freaky bond or whatever, but I have no idea what you’re talking about, let alone thinking about. I want an explanation now, and if I don’t get it, I will jump out the window.” Alec looks at me, and I meet his panicked gaze for a moment, before flicking it over to Max. The ravenette sighs in understanding. 

       “Look, the reason I sided with the Inquisitor was so that she wouldn’t keep as close an eye on me as you,” he explains, words mashing together into an almost incomprehensible soup. “You’ve taken Jace’s side already, so I figured that if one of us wasn’t being scrutinized 24/7, we’d have a better chance of busting him out.” A pause. “And you can’t jump out the window, or else you’d die. I don’t want you to even think about that ever again.” 

       Izzy’s mouth forms a perfect ‘o’. I grin. “Jace wanted me to use your phone to text Clary to tell her to ask Luke about the Inquisitor’s son, Stephen,” Alec adds. “We think he might have something to do with why she hates him so much.” I purse my lips, bringing my hands up to sign out a short, quick sentence.

        _He O-K?_ A beat of hesitation; _anxiety_ wells in my gut before being pushed down, replaced by a strained sort of _calm_ that’s definitely not mine. 

       “His wrists are pretty badly damaged,” my _parabatai_ explains. “The Inquisitor put some kind of cuffs that look like they’re made out of blue fire. But he was being sarcastic when I went to see him, so I don’t think he’s too badly injured.” I nod slowly, although my worry hasn’t lessened; knowing Jace, he’d take his sarcasm to and beyond the grave. “Jace wants to talk to you,” Alec adds. I frown, tilting my head. “Something about Jak,” the ravenette explains, answering my wordless question. “He says it’s urgent.” My brow furrows, and I follow my raven-haired _parabatai_ out of Isabelle’s room quickly, leaving behind a confused Max and a curious Izzy. 

       The training room looks much more bizarre than I remember it being in the times that I’d been in here to practice. I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed a giant cage of what looks like molten silver, each bar thrumming with a restrained sort of energy.

       “Malachi Configuration,” Alec explains quietly. “If anything touches the bars, it’s fried.”

       “So it’s like the cages where they lock wild animals up in,” I state flatly. I’m not sure how to feel, if the emotions that I am feeling are actually mine. Nevertheless, worry clouds my judgement when I see a familiar form lying still in the middle of the glimmering birdcage, and I’m so close to the bars that little jolts of energy are coursing through me.

       “What are you doing?” the eldest of the three of us present asks concernedly, kneeling beside me.

       “I thought I’d lie in the floor and writhe in pain for a while,” Jace grunts in reply. “It relaxes me.” I roll my eyes. Alec seems to read the annoyance in my posture or through the bond, because he shrugs jerkily.

       “At least if he’s being sarcastic, we can tell that he’s still alive,” the ravenette offers. I huff in acquiescence, sitting back on the heels of my boots. “If you can sit up, you might want to,” Alec directs at my brother. “I’m going to try to slide something through the wall.” The blonde sits up quickly.

       “Alec, don’t—“ 

       But our _parabatai_ has already rolled the apple forwards, using a feather-light touch to push it with both hands. The red fruit breaks through the golden curtain, little specks of silver dissolving off of its blood-red skin as it bumps against Jace’s knee.

       “An apple,” my brother mutters, picking it up with slow, pained movements. “How appropriate.” I narrow my eyes, eyeing my blonde _parabatai’s_ wrists, which are restrained by blue flames that are cuffed together. Anger bubbles to the surface of my emotions, but before I can latch onto it, Alec speaks.

       “I thought you might be hungry,” he offers quietly, shifting so that he’s cross-legged on the floor outside the Malachi Configuration.

       “I am,” Jace replies simply, taking a bite of the apple. Alec’s tongue presses against his teeth as he splits the sandwich in two, offering half to me. I take it gratefully. “Did you text Clary?” my brother asks, swallowing his bite of apple.

       “Isabelle should be doing it right now,” Alec replies. “She threatened to jump out the window, but Jessa managed to get her to calm down long enough for me to get a sentence in.” 

       “You’re welcome,” I mumble under my breath, taking a bite of the sandwich. Both of my _parabatai_ roll their eyes at me.

       “I brought you something else, too,” the darker third of our trio adds, taking something out of his pocket. “I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s worth a try.” As Alec slides the object through the wall, I catch a glimpse of metallic silver. Jace sets his apple aside, picking the object up curiously. It’s a small silver disk, about the side of a quarter.

       “What’s that?” I ask curiously, swallowing my food.

       “I got it off the desk in the library,” Alec explains. “I’ve seen my parents use it before to take off restraints. I think it’s an Unlocking rune. It’s worth trying—“ 

       Apparently, that’s all Jace needs to hear, because he doesn’t wait for our _parabatai_ to finish before maneuvering awkwardly to press the disk to the blue flames that encircle his wrists. The moment the two objects make contact, the cuffs flicker briefly, before vanishing. I suck in a sharp breath at the sight of my brother’s wrists.

       They looked like someone had taken a stick and smashed it against both wrists, then clamped them in a vise. Hardly a centimeter of skin isn’t black, blue or purple, and some parts are a sickly green-gray. More anger surges forward to the forefront of my thoughts, but another calming wave, this time from both of my _parabatai_ , washes over me.

       “Thanks,” Jace says out loud, rubbing his wrists carefully. “It’s not a file hidden in a birthday cake, but it’ll keep my hands from falling off.” I roll my eyes half heartedly, still hung up on my brother’s wrists, even with both of my _parabatai_ taking the edge off.

       “You know, something occurred to me when I was talking to Isabelle earlier,” Alec says slowly. “I told her she couldn’t jump out the window—and not to try or she’d get herself killed.” My brother nods.

       “Sound big-brotherly advice,” he agrees. I’m honestly not sure if he’s joking or not. Regardless, my raven-haired _parabatai_ forges on. He’s definitely used to it by now; you can’t live with Jace for seven years and not have any bouts of uncertainty. 

       “But then I started wondering if that was true in your case—I mean, I’ve seen you do things that were practically flying. I’ve seen you fall three stories and land like a cat, jump from the ground to a roof—“ 

       “Shhh, you’re stroking his ego,” I interrupt sardonically. Jace rolls his eyes at me.

       “Hearing my achievements recited is certainly gratifying, but I’m not sure what your point is, Alec.” The Lightwood rolls his eyes. “My point is that there are four walls to this prison, not five.” The blonde stares back at our _parabatai_.

       “So Hodge wasn’t lying when he said we’d actually use geometry in our daily lives. You’re right, Alec. There are four walls to this cage. Now it the Inquisitor had gone with two, I might—“ 

       “JACE,” Alec interrupts exasperatedly, _annoyance_ flaring momentarily. “I mean, there’s no top to the cage. Nothing between you and the ceiling.” My brother’s eyes widen in realization, and he cranes his head back to take a look at the rafters.

       “You’re crazy.”

       “You’re crazier,” I point out, taking another bite of my sandwich.

       “Maybe,” Alec says. “Maybe I just know what you can do.” He looks at me imploringly, and I shrug.

       “You could try,” I offer. “Worst case is I break the window from the outside and see if I can take passengers.” Jace snorts.

       “Max, maybe. I don’t think you can carry me and stay in the air.” 

       “So you are fat?” I ask, a slight grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.

       “Cuckoos are,” the blonde corrects, rising to his feet and turning in a slow circle to take stock of his shiny birdcage. A brief moment passes, and then my brother bends down to pick up his half-eaten apple. With a swift, sudden move, he cocks his arm back and throws it at the far wall. The ruby-red fruit sails through the air, hits the golden bars, and immediately bursts into blue flame that would’ve matched Jace’s own shackles. A lurch of _worry_ and _fear_ makes my stomach flip as Alec rises to his feet. I take another bite of sandwich in an attempt to ignore the feelings. 

       “Jace, I don’t know—“ 

       “Shut up, Alec,” my brother interrupts. It’s not angry, just a request put in harsher words than necessary. I’m the only one who notices the Lightwood flinch. “And don’t watch me,” Jace adds. “It’s not helping.” I bite my lip, Alec’s _anxiety_ setting me on edge.

       “Wait for me,” I command, throwing the rest of my uneaten sandwich at the cage. It hits the ground as bright blue flame. “I’m going to go outside. Once you hear me tap on the window, jump.” My brother’s brow furrows. “How—“

       I reach down to tug off my hoodie without waiting for Jace to finish.

       “Ohhhh.”

       “You forgot?” Alec asks the blonde teasingly.

       “Oh, well excuse me if being put in a deadly birdcage after talking to my psychotic father made the fact that my si—cousin has wings slip my mind,” Jace retorts. _Bitterness_ blooms in the pit of my stomach, and I have no doubt that Alec can feel it too. The ravenette’s brow furrows, and he opens his mouth, but I get a tiny kick of _unease_ that’s most likely from the blonde third of our mismatched trio.

       “Wait for me,” I cut in before Alec can ask anything. “Pay attention.” Jace rolls his eyes as he nods his head, but it still offers me a bit of comfort as I toss Alec my hoodie. Bending down, I unlock the massive window in order to push it open and wriggle through. Once my upper body is hanging out entirely, I clench my jaw tightly—before letting go.

       I fall for a brief moment, before instinct takes over and my wings snap out. The sudden uplift of air has me rocketing up a few feet, and I swear eloquently as I struggle to regain my balance. Surprisingly, flying lessons for humans were hard to come by. The times that I practiced with my friends (family?) watching me weren’t helpful in the slightest, seeing as Jace and Jak are little shits.

       It feels weird to be dangling in the air with nothing to do with the rest of your body, and it becomes ten times deadlier when too much of a shift in weight has you cracking to the ground. I’d learnt that the hard way. Now, as I’m suspended in midair with gigantic black wings beating every so often, I struggle to remain balanced, much less to up. I don’t know how birds do it.

       Gritting my teeth, I risk a glance at the upper roof of the Institute before leaning forwards. The next beat of my wings sends me forward at an angle, lifting me higher. Another beat, a little higher. And again and again and again, until I’m finally close enough to grab the edge of the roof and haul myself up. I’m panting from the exertion once I manage to drag the upper half of my body up, because dammit, these wings are heavy-ass motherfuckers.

       Stopping for a few more moments to catch my breath, I swing my legs up and hurry up the roof. I’m hunched forwards, half to stay out of sight to whoever might catch a glimpse of me from the ground, half because these damn wings keep on putting me off balance. The window I head to is halfway open, letting the chilly September air in. Whoever the fuck thought that was a good idea deserves to be eaten by a Drevak.

       Still, I tap lightly on the glass and lever it open a few more inches, enough room for me to stick my head through comfortably.

       “You coming?” I ask in a hushed whisper. In a silent room with only two people occupying it, even those two whispered words seem to carry. Jace and Alec both look up, _surprise_ flitting across the bond from both of them. I raise an eyebrow. “Well?” Jace snaps out of it, sparing a single glance at our raven-haired _parabatai_ before crouching low, like a cat. The next thing he does seems to happen in slow motion. 

       It’s surreal, watching my brother jump impossibly high, right into the rafters. It’s graceful, elegant, almost practiced, as if he’d done this before. There’s not a trace of doubt through the bond, only solid, reassuring _determination_ and _certainty_. Because Jace trusts Alec with his life, and they’ve known each other so long, been connected for so long, that they know each other better than themselves.


	21. Chapter 21

       All too soon, it’s over, and I quickly back out of the window so that Jace can climb through. A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I watch Jace wiggle through the open window and straighten up. He looks like a blonde worm going through a goth phase. My brother straightens up, and I beckon for him to follow me as I crouch low to the ground (or as low as I can get on a roof), and make my way across the roof quickly and confidently. I don’t need to look back to know that Jace is following.

       I slow down once we reach the edge, letting Jace catch up.

        _Where curious room?_ My _parabatai_ raises an eyebrow at the Isabelle’s sign name, but gestures for me to follow him. Creeping carefully across the roof, we come to a stop and Jace flattens himself against the tiles, peering over carefully. Seeing no one, he tips forwards and disappears over the edge.

       I roll my eyes, following him, wings snapping out to slow my descent almost immediately. Cursing quietly, I straighten out as much as I can as I watch my brother land right on the ledge of what I assume is the window to Isabelle’s room. As I let myself drift down to the same height as him, the blonde raises a hand to tap on the window. There’s a loud, dramatic gasp, and then Izzy’s voice can be heard.

       “Jace!”

       “The same,” the blonde replies, climbing through the open window.  Rolling my eyes, letting myself drop and catch the windowsill. Pulling myself up, I swing my feet up first and pull my upper body through the window. Inside, Alec and Izzy stand in the center of the room, Max perched in the edge of the bed. Jace steps away from the window, and I have to pull it open a bit more in order to fit my wings through. Izzy appears to recover from her shock, launching herself at her adopted brother and hugging him tightly. 

       The blonde yelps, a brief shock of _pain_  darting through the bond, and the black-haired beauty quickly leaps back, dark eyes scanning over Jace concernedly.

       “Careful there,” my _parabatai_ says in an attempt to ward off his sister’s concern. “I’m not in the best shape right now.”

       “I can see that,” Isabelle replies with a frown. I glance at Max, and see that his blue eyes wide as saucers, fixed on my wings. I feel heat climb up my neck, and I glance at Alec hopelessly, arms coming up to wrap around my middle protectively. The Lightwood boy quickly realizes my predicament, handing me my hoodie almost immediately. Relief blooms in my stomach as I tug my sweatshirt over my head, although a seed of fearful doubt has planted itself in my stomach. 

        **Will Max tell, even if I warn him not to? Even if he agreed to keep quiet, would he be able to keep it that way? He‘s nine years old. Should I have any right to ask him to keep this secret?** The hoodie is on, and I wrap my arms around my middle uncomfortably, as if it’ll disguise the fact that I just stuffed two massive black wings underneath the sweatshirt.

       “Did the Inquisitor hurt you?” Isabelle demands, crossing her arms.

       “Not too badly,” my brother replied, glancing around the room. “She just locked me up in the weapons gallery. Alec and Jess helped me get out.” A quick pause. “What kind of weapons do you have in here?”

        _Bandages_ , I add, glaring pointedly at the blonde’s wrists. 

       “Bandages?” Izzy asks puzzledly. “But an _iratze_ …” She trails off as she follows my gaze, to Jace’s wrists that are black and cracked, oozing blood and pus. Her jaw tightens and her eye twitches, but that’s the extent of external emotion she reveals.

       “And I’ll need some weapons, too, before I—“

       “Bandages first, weapons later,” the Lightwood girl orders, grabbing Jace’s arm and dragging him into the bathroom. Alec hands her a basketful of ointments, gauze pads and bandage strips wordlessly. As soon as they’re out of earshot I turn to Max, making my way around the bed in order to crouch down in front of him. I open my mouth hesitantly, then close it.

       I raise my hands, then lower them. A strong, steady presence appears at my shoulder, and I can feel Alec’s _comfort_ and _peace_ flowing through the bond. He’s been feeling that a lot since he and Magnus got together, albeit secretly. Taking a deep, calming breath, I clench my shaking hands on my knees and look Max in the eye. 

       “Max,” I say softly. The youngest Lightwood boy’s eyes widen. He’s never heard me talk, only heard my voice in his head. But this is something that needs to be said, not signed, especially since I’m asking him to do so much for someone he’s barely met. “I need you to tell no one about my wings without my permission,” I continue. “Not even your parents. Not anyone.” My eyes flicker across the nine-year-old’s face, searching for any hint of confusion or uncertainty. There’s nothing, but there’s something entirely unfamiliar there, something that I’ve never known people to feel about me. Awe. Admiration. 

       Those blue eyes, so much like Alec’s, are full of both emotions, and I’m terrified of them. Nobody should look up to me. Ever. But then Max nods, blue eyes turning serious and face clearing.

       “I won’t,” he promises solemnly. “I swear on the Angel.” My breath catches in my throat, and my lips part slightly. Swearing on the Angel is a serious thing. For Max to do it… I swallow harshly, raising a shaking hand to place it on Max’s knee.

       “Thank you,” I whisper faintly. 

       Alec’s hand leaves my shoulder and wraps around my bicep, tugging me up to my feet gently.

       “Do you have your phone?” he asks in a low tone. I nod, reaching for it and taking it out of my pocket. It’s dead. I swear quietly.

       “Do you have any cords?” My _parabatai_ shakes his head.

       “Not for that kind of phone, no.” I groan, shoving the electronic back into my hoodie. “Izzy?” Alec suddenly calls. “Can you get the phone?”

       “It’s on the dresser,” Isabelle replies. The eldest Lightwood strides over to the aforementioned dresser, blue eyes searching.

       “It’s not on the dresser,” he calls back. I can hear Izzy swear in annoyance.

       “Oh, hell. I left my phone in the kitchen. Crap. I don’t want to go looking for it in case the Inquisitor’s around.”

       “I’ll get it,” Max volunteers. “She doesn’t care about me, I’m too young.”

       “I suppose,” his sister concedes reluctantly. “What do you need the phone for, Alec? Can’t you use Jessa’s?”

       “Her’s is dead. We need yours,” Alec insists impatiently. “Izzy—“ 

       “If you’re texting Magnus to say ‘I think u r kewl’, I’m going to kill you,” his sister announces.

       “Who’s Magnus?” Max queries.

       “He’s a warlock,” his brother replies resignedly.

       “A sexy, sexy warlock,” Izzy interjects.

       “But warlocks are bad,” Max says slowly, a look of absolute bafflement on his face.

       “Exactly,” his sister agrees.

       “I don’t understand, but I’m going to get the phone,” the youngest Lightwood announces. “I’ll be right back.” The ravenette slips out the door as Jace emerges from the bathroom, and the blonde immediately gets on all fours in order to search for weapons. His adopted sister is close at his heels, shaking her head exasperatedly. 

       “What’s the plan now? Are we all leaving?” the black-haired beauty demands. “The Inquisitor’s going to freak when she finds out you’re not there anymore.”

       “Not as much as she’ll freak when Valentine turns her down,” my brother says grimly, straightening up so that he’s kneeling. As quickly as possible, my blonde _parabatai_  outlines what Imogen Herondale has intended to do with him. _Unease_ and well-concealed _fear_ swirls in my stomach all the while. “The only problem is, he’ll never go for it,” he finally concludes, resuming his search for weapons. 

       “The—the only problem?” Isabelle splutters, face red with anger. “She can’t do that! She can’t just trade you away to a psychopath! You’re a member of the Clave! You’re our brother!” _Defiance_ rises in my stomach, but is quickly squashed by _fear_.

       “The Inquisitor doesn’t think so,” Alec mutters bitterly.

       “I don’t care what she thinks,” Izzy hisses. “She’s a hideous bitch and she has got to be stopped.”

       “Once she finds out her plan is seriously flawed, she might be able to be talked down,” Jace compromises. “But neither Jessa or I are going to be sticking around to find out. I’m getting out of here, and she’s coming with me.” I let out a low noise of indignation.

       “Since when did I agree to that?”

       “Since you snuck into the Institute uninvited and pissed of the Inquisitor,” my _parabatai_ fires back. My shoulders slump in resignation.

       “It’s not going to be easy,” Alec interjects, voice reflecting the _uneasiness_ that lurches in my gut. “The Inquisitor’s got this place locked up tighter than a pentagram. You know there are guards downstairs? She’s called in half the Conclave.”

       “She must think highly of me,” Jace comments, tossing aside a pile of fashion magazines. The nonchalance is only external; there’s _nervousness_ and _fear_  spiking in my gut. 

       “Maybe she’s not wrong,” Isabelle says thoughtfully, expression mirroring her tone. “Did you seriously jump thirty feet out of a Malachi Configuration?”

       “He did,” Alec’s confirms. 

       “Never seen anything like it,” I agree. I frown, a memory flitting to the forefront of my mind. “Well, there was this this one time when Jak—“ 

       “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jace interrupts, lifting a ten-inch dagger from the floor, a pink bra speared on the tip. Izzy snatches it quickly, a deep scowl on her face.

       “That’s not the point. How did you do it? Do you know?”

       “I jumped,” my brother says simply, producing two spinning disks out from under the bed, each razor-sharp edge glinting in the light. They’re covered in dust and cat hair. “Chakrams. Cool. Especially if I meet any demons with serious dander allergies.” Isabelle smacks him over the head with the bra.

       “You’re not answering me!”

       “Because I don’t know, Izzy,” the blonde says, scrambling to his feet. “Maybe the Seelie Queen was right. Maybe I have powers I don’t even know about because I’ve never tested them. Clary and Jessa certainly do.” The Lightwood girl frowns.

       “Clary?” Alec’s eyes widen, _hope_ blooming in my chest.

       “Jace—is that vampire cycle of yours still up on the roof?”

       “Possibly,” our _parabatai_ replies with a shrug. “But it’s daylight, so it’s not much use.” A jolt runs through me, and I glance out the window quickly. Sure enough, the sun is out and shining. It’s not in the right position for it to be morning, though, which means that Jace had been locked up much longer than I’d realized. 

       “Besides, we can’t all fit on it,” Isabelle points out, all thoughts of my red-haired cousin out the window.  _Reluctance_ and _guilt_ smother the _hope_ that comes from Alec as Jace slides all of his various weapons into place.

       “That doesn’t matter,” the blonde finally says. “Neither of you are coming with me. Just Jessa.”

       “What do you mean, we’re not—“ 

       Max bursts into the room, out of breath with Izzy’s battered pink phone clutched in one hand. Everyone’s attention is immediately redirected, and Isabelle swoops down to grab her phone.

       “Max, you’re a hero.” She shoots a glare at Jace. “I’ll get back to you in a minute. Meanwhile, who are we calling? Clary?”

       “I’ll call her—“ 

       “No,” the second oldest Lightwood insists, batting her older brother’s hand away. “She likes me better.” There’s not much anyone can do, because she’s dialing as she speaks, sticking her tongue out at she holds the phone to her ear. “Clary? It’s Isabelle. I—What?” The color in the Shadowhunter’s face drains, as if it had been erased, leaving her face wire and strained. “How is that possible?” she demands. “But why—“ 

       “How is what possible?” I ask sharply. “What happened?” Jace strides over to his sister’s side, _anxiety_  strangling every other emotion. 

       “Isabelle, what’s happened? Is Clary—“ 

       “It’s Valentine,” the Lightwood girl says, holding the phone away from her mouth, knuckles white. “He’s taken Simon and Maia. He’s going to use them to perform the Ritual.” I feel like all the wind has been knocked out of me. I’d only known Maia for a few days, and Simon for about two weeks, but the events that brought us together made us closer than we should’ve been at this point. I could talk to the, without fear of pain, and both of them had accepted me for what I was: a weird, winged freak with orange hair.

       And now they were gone and probably about to die on a ship surrounded by demons. A sharp knife of _worry_ , _anxiety_ , _fear_ and _pain_ has lodged itself in my throat, cutting off my air supply. My breaths come out in short, sharp gasps, and my head feels light. My knees are turning into jelly. I can’t tell which emotions are mine and which ones are Jace’s or Alec’s, and everything’s a ball of _worry, worry, worry, worry, worry, fear_ and I can’t focus on anything—

       A small hand on my forearm surprises me enough to distract my thoughts from the shitshow of emotions forming a little tsunami inside me. Looking down, I see Max’s bright blue eyes, light reflecting off of his glasses.

       “Are you tired?” he asks quietly, as the others converse in the background. “Alec gets all spacey like that when he’s tired.” **Panic attacks,** I think hazily. **Alec gets panic attacks.**

       “Yeah,” I manage to croak out. “Yeah. I’m just tired of all this running around.” Max nods.

       “Feel better,” he says gravely. “And try to sleep if you can.” I give him a wan smile and refocus on the conversation that the elder Lightwoods are in the middle of. 

       “We?” Isabelle is asking, face lit up with excitement.

       “Magnus, Luke, Jessa, Jak and myself,” Jace clarifies. “You two are staying here and dealing with the Inquisitor for me. When Valentine doesn’t come through with his part of her deal, you’re the ones who are going to have to convince her to send all the backup the Conclave has got after Valentine.” _Uneasiness_ ripples through the bond briefly, and I screw up my nose in frustration as I smack aside the conflicting feelings I’m getting from my _parabatai_. And as much as I hate to leave Alec with only Izzy and Max alone with his father, Jace is right. They have to stay in order to make sure that Magnus, Jak, Jace, Luke and I aren’t going on a suicide mission.

       “I don’t get it,” Alec finally says, _confusion_ and _concern_ coming from him. “How do you plan to get out of here in the first place?” My brother grins devilishly.

       “Watch,” he says simply, jumping up onto Izzy’s windowsill. The Lightwood girl cries out, but my blonde _parabatai_ has already ducked through the window. There’s a brief moment in which he appears to be frozen, balanced precariously on the window sill—and then he’s gone, the only remnants of his physical presence a giddy sort of _glee_ that overrides all of the other emotions churning inside me. I grin shakily, tugging my hoodie over my head.

       My hair comes loose as I do so, and I realize that it’s orange. I hadn’t asked Magnus for the glamour. Working my shoulders in circles to loosen them up, my wings rustle with each movement. I take one quick glance back—at Max, eyes wide with awe, Izzy, eyes filled with worry and Alec, heart full of _pride_ , _fear_ and a fierce sort of _protection_ —before I push the window open wider and leap off of the windowsill. It’s easier than the last few times to balance, and I tilt my shoulders in order to spin in a circle, searching for Jace.

       “Pssst,” I hear from above. I look up, greeted by the sight of a familiar blonde head hanging over the roof. Rolling my eyes, I tilt my wings down and beat them hard once, twice, thrice—and rocket up to join Jace, dropping onto the roof lightly, hoodie in one hand. Without waiting for me to follow, the blonde turns tail and darts between the turrets jutting up from the steep roof, from one overhang to another. Finally, the blonde comes to a stop and drops flat in order to scoot down the roof.

       I look out past the turret we’re hiding behind, and see a familiar blue truck parked out of sight of someone patrolling in front of the Institute. A small smile curls the corners of my mouth, and I glance down at Jace. He nods, and I run down the steep roof-turned-ramp, launching myself off of the edge. For a moment, I feel like I’m suspended in midair. Then the adrenaline rushes to me and my wings snap out, sending my soaring upwards. Angling my body forwards, I cut through the sky, the sun beginning to peek over the city that stretches out in front of me.

        **This is my home now** , I think contentedly, spinning in a tight circle, eyes tracking Jace’s progress down the roof. I watch the blonde jump, and nearly cry out. But nothing happens. My brother simply falls to the earth, light as a cat, landing in front of a certain redhead that I hadn’t noticed until now. Tucking in my wings, I lean forward and let myself fall. Wind rushes past me with a roar, and I watch the ground speed closer. About thirty feet above the ground, my wings snap open and I drift upwards once again. Not moving an inch, I let myself descend, dropping the last ten or so feet. Straightening up from my crouch, I grin at Clary and Jace. 

       “Please tell me that he didn’t make a dropping in joke.”


	22. Chapter 22

       “How—how did you—how did you do that?” Clary whispers in shock. I wink at her, and a shift in movement catches my eye. Luke is out of the truck, standing with his hands clasped behind him. But his eyes aren’t trained on the three of us. They’re trained on something over my shoulder. I swivel, wings flaring instinctively, and see two Shadowhunters running towards us. My heart stops for a brief second, but then Jace tugs on my arm sharply.

       Adrenaline loops through the _parabatai_ bond, giving me twice the energy, and I follow Jace and Clary in their mad dash for the truck. There’s a loud exclamation, which chills me to the very bone, before I take a flying leap and land in the bed of the truck. Jace and Clary throw themselves into the passenger seat, and Luke peels away from the sidewalk, passenger door left open. A runed hand shoots out and grabs it, slamming the door shut. The werewolf driving doesn’t slow for a moment, gas pedal probably pressed to the ground. The only thing I can do is cling to the sides of the truck and panic. 

       There was no way, no possibility, not a fraction of a chance that neither Shadowhunter had seen my black wings and orange hair. The only secret I now have is my red eyes, but probably not for long. My orange hair was spilling out across my shoulders, and my wings were fucking wide open as the Shadowhunters charged. Even without the additional help provided by their Marks, they should’ve seen both a million miles away. And so my secrets become unraveled. I need to call Jak. Jak will know what to do. Jak always knows what to do.

       But my phone is dead and the glass separating the front seat from the bed of the car is immobile, so I can’t ask the others. And without anything to do, one thought keeps on repeating, looping continuously through my mind. **My fault, my fault, my fault. My fault if Magnus is condemned for hiding me, my fault if Jak is dragged into the dungeons of the Silent City. My fault, my fault, my fault.** My breaths are coming out in short, shaking gasps.

       My gaze is fixed on my knuckles, white from the strength of my death hold on the truck. My vision blurs, and all of a sudden the truck lurches, throwing me off balance. My shoulder slams against the window on the back of the truck. I pull my knees closer to my chest, balling up as tightly as possible. My wings are protesting the position, but I firmly ignore them. The jolt of Jehoel digs into my ribs, and my arms are attached firmly to the side of the truck, refusing to unclench.

       The panic begins to take control, building up impossibly large. Desperately, I try to build a dam in front of it, because I’ve had too many panic attacks to not recognize the signs. It’s not enough, and it all comes crashing down over me, drowning any concerns over whether or not Alec and Jace can feel anything through the bond. I don’t feel the truck jerking to a stop or hear the passenger door slam open. All I know is that all of a sudden my brother, my _parabatai_ , is kneeling in front of me in the bed of the truck, calloused hands gripping my shoulders.

       “Breathe,” Jace says slowly. “Breathe with me, Jessa, dammit. In. Out. In. Out.” One hand moves to mine, still clenched tight around the side of the truck. “Jessa, you need to relax,” my brother pleads. It doesn’t do anything, because it’s like he’s speaking from the other end of a tunnel, echoey and faint. I almost can’t hear him. 

       “Jessa, breathe and relax,” the blonde says, voice desperate. “Your name is Jessamine Grace, and in this moment I have just realized that I never actually knew your last name. You hate when I call you Jessamine, because you say that Jessamine is a weak little kid who couldn’t defend herself. You have a twin named Jakson Spencer, he’s eight and a half seconds older than you and he never lets you forget that.”

       Something about his words brings me back to the present, even if only a little, because all of a sudden I realize that my hands have unclenched. Jace takes one, pressing it to his chest, inhaling exaggeratedly and exhaling just as dramatically. “In. Out. In. Out,” my brother repeats, over and over. My short, gasping, uneven breaths fight to continue their erratic pattern, but my mind wrestles with the panic, insisting that I follow Jace’s instructions. “In,” he says. “Out.” My breath evens out slowly, and only when I manage to gulp in a lungful of air do I realize that tears are drying on my face.

       “That’s it,” Jace says softly, adjusting the arm that isn’t attached to the hand that holds mine to his chest. “In. Out.” His free arm wraps around my shoulders and under the tops of my wings, pulling me close so that my shoulder is pressed against the inside of his. “In,” he says. “Out.” I slump against my brother, shudders overtaking my body. Above me, Jace shifts, and I faintly realize that Luke must start the engine once again. I hadn't noticed the absence of the familiar rumble.

       Slowly, ever so slowly, the floor underneath me lurches into motion. For a moment, I’m terrified of being thrown around, but Jace’s hold on my shoulders tightens and he releases my hand in order to grip the side of the truck. “Are you alright?” he asks quietly. I nod jerkily, shifting so that Jehoel doesn’t dig into my side. I’m not. Alright, that is. But something bugs me, nags at my mind. 

       “Why can’t you tell?” I croak out. Jace looks down at me in surprise. I sniff, bringing up a hand to wipe at my face in frustration. “Why can’t you tell how I feel?” I reiterate. My brother’s brow furrows, _confusion_ replacing _worry_ that I only detect after it’s gone.

       “That’s not how it works,” he says slowly. “The _parabatai_ bond doesn’t usually apply to emotions, only physical pain.” I shake my head, infinitely grateful for the distraction that this argument provides.

       “No, I know that you’re confused right now,” I protest. Jace’s _confusion_ is accompanied by _disbelief_. “And now you don’t believe me!” I exclaim. The blonde’s brow furrows.

       “If you can feel whatever I do, then how come I can’t feel what you’re feeling?” I still in surprise, because now Jace’s _disbelief_ is no more, replaced by burning _curiosity_.

       “I don’t know,” I whisper.

~~~~~

       The place where Magnus decided to meet us is down by the waterfront, where Jak and I used to eat ice cream when we were younger. We didn’t have time for that anymore, what with school (which we skipped a lot, admittedly) and all the other Downworlder shit we have going on.

       “Magnus will get us across the water,” Jace explains, laying out the plan. “The ship is surrounded by protection wards. I got onto it before because my father wanted me to get onto it. This time he won’t. Well need Magnus to deal with the warnings.”

       “I don’t like this,” Luke announces, fingers tapping against the side of the bed of the truck that were all gathered in. “I think I should go and you three should stay with Magnus.” Jace’s golden eyes flash with fire.

       “No. It has to be me who goes.”

       “And where you go, I follow,” I add firmly.

       “Why?” Clary asks, regarding Jace’s earlier statement.

       “Because Valentine’s using a fear demon,” my brother explains. “That’s how he was able to kill the Silent Brother’s. It’s what slaughtered that warlock, the werewolf” —I glare— “ _Jospeh_ in the alley outside the Hunter’s Moon, and probably what killed that fey child in the park. And it’s why the Brothers had those looks on their faces. Those terrified looks. They were literally scared to death.” I can feel my jaw tighten as I think about what that implicates. About what could happen if I ran into that demon on Valentine’s ship. Panic bubbles up in my throat, but Jace’s steady hand on my arm keeps me anchored.

       “But the blood—“ 

       “He drained the blood later,” my _parabatai_ says shortly, interrupting his sister. “And in the alley he was interrupted by one of the lycanthrope.” **Bat** , I think privately, frustratedly. **If Shadowhunters claimed to be the protectors of all those in need, why did they insist on separating themselves from those they were bound to protect?** “That’s why he didn’t have enough time to get the blood he needed,” the blonde continues. “And that’s why he still needs Maia.” Jace takes a hand through his mane of golden hair. “No one can stand up against the fear demon. It gets in your head and destroys your mind.” 

       “Agramon,” Luke says, breaking his silent vigil, face gray and pinched. My eyes widen.

       “Yeah, that's what Valentine called it.” I shake my head furiously, opening my mouth. Luke beats me to the punch, though, leaning forward, green eyes worried and intense.

       “He’s not _a_ fear demon,” the werewolf says gravely. “He’s _the_ fear demon. The Demon of Fear.” The alpha sits back, and I shudder. “How did Valentine get Agramon to do his bidding?” he wonders. “Even a warlock would have trouble binding a Greater Demon, and outside the pentagram—“ 

       Luke sucks in a sharp, worried breath.

       “That’s how the warlock child died, isn’t it? Summoning Agramon?” Jace nods in assent, and quickly lays out the story of how the warlock child, Elias, had died.

       “The Mortal Cup lets him control Agramon,” the blonde finishes. “Apparently it gives you some power over demons. Not like the Sword does, though.”

       “Now I’m even less inclined to let you go,” the alpha says gravely. “It’s a Greater Demon, Jace. It would take this city’s worth of Shadowhunters to deal with it.”

       “I know it’s a Greater Demon,” Jace replies sharply. “But its weapon is fear. If Clary can put the Fearless rune on Jessa and me, one of us might be able to take it down.” A pause, and _fear_ rises in my stomach. “Or at least try.” 

       “No!” Clary exclaims. “I don’t want your safety dependent on my stupid runes. What if it doesn’t work?”

       “It worked before,” I point out, rolling my eyes.

       “What if I mess it up this time?” Jace’s eyes meet Clary’s, _determination_ and a steady, pulsing _belief_ overtaking the _fear_ that lurks just below the surface.

       “You won’t,” he says confidently, voice firm. Luke sighs, leaning back to rest his back against the glass that separates the bed of the truck from the front seat.

       “Are you sure this is the right address?” the werewolf asks dubiously. “Magnus hasn’t shown up yet.” I nod firmly, taking in the familiar surroundings. Luke had parked the truck outside of a large factory that had been destroyed by a fire long ago. The only thing left of it is hollow brick and plaster, metal struts forcing their way out, bent and burnt. In the distance, the financial district of lower Manhattan and Governors Island, a black hump of shape, lurks in the distance.

       “He’s coming,” I say quietly. “If he told Alec that he was coming, he’ll come.” The werewolf sighs, planting his hands against the bed of the truck in order to push himself to his feet. The alpha clambers out of the back of the truck gracefully, and the rest of us follow hastily. Jace heads down to the riverbank, and I trail behind him absently, wings tucked against my back firmly as I pull my hoodie over my head once again.

       My hair is getting in my face, so I scrounge up a hair tie, using it to tame my unruly tangle of flaming orange. I use one of my razor-sharp hairpins to keep the messy bun in place. When I turn back to Jace, he’s standing up and brushing invisible specks of dust from his pants. Wind whips blonde hair into golden eyes, and I resist the urge to offer my brother a spare hair tie. 

       “What are you doing?” Clary asks. My _parabatai_ shrugs casually, although I can see the guarded undertone to the casual motion.

       “Sending a message.”

       “A message to who?”

       “No one,” the blonde snaps, turning his back on the water and stalking over to his jacket, which is spread out on the pebbled beach in order to act as a bizarre sort of picnic blanket for three seraph blades. Without the extra layer, I can clearly see the chakrams threaded through his belt loops. My eyes widen, and I quickly strip off my hoodie in order to do a quick inventory. 

       Two decks of cards, two short seraph blades, eight throwing stars, eight throwing knives, four packets of fire crackers, a box of matches, my stele, Jehoel and a Sharpie. I pull a face. Not the most ideal inventory to have in your possession as you prepare to face a ravenous army of demons. In fact, the best equipment one could ever gave to face an army of demons would probably be a nice set of legs to run away on. I pull my sweatshirt back on, lips pursed.

       “I didn’t have a chance to get to the armory, so these are the weapons we have,” Jace announces, scooping up the nearest seraph blades and running his fingers along the edge. “I thought we might as well get as ready as we can before Magnus gets here.” My brother lifts the blade in his hand high. “Abrariel.” The seraph blade bursts into blinding white light for a moment, before toning down to a more bearable brightness. Jace makes to hand it to Luke, but the werewolf shakes his head.

       “I’m all right,” he says. He draws his jacket aside to reveal a familiar kindjal secured by his belt loops. The blonde simply shrugs, handing Abrariel to Clary, who takes the weapon carefully. My parabatai bends down, grabbing the next blade.

       “Camael,” he mutters. He names the last one Telentar.

       “Do you ever use Raziel’s name?” Clary asks as Jace slips both seraph blades into his belt and shrugs his jacket back on. 

       “Never,” Luke says gravely. “That’s not done.” Green eyes dart around restlessly, searching for Magnus. All of a sudden, Clary’s phone buzzes. The petite girl flips it open, handing it to Jace wordlessly. As he reads the message, my brother’s golden eyebrows climb in an attempt to become one with his hairline.

       “It looks like the Inquisitor gave Valentine until sunset to decide whether he wants me or the Mortal Instruments more,” he announces. “She and Maryse have been fighting for hours, so she hasn’t noticed I’m gone yet.” He passes his sister her phone, and my cousin’s hand jerks away from my _parabatai’s_. _Guilt_ and _regret_ dances through the bond for a brief second, so fast that I almost miss it. Jace shows no outward reaction, though.

       “Did the Inquisitor’s son die?” he asks Luke. “Is this why she’s like this?” I grimace, touching Clary’s elbow and turning her away from the two males as they begin to talk.

       “Jace is going to ask you to Mark him with a Fearless rune,” I say quietly. “I want you to do it.” Glancing back at Luke and Jace, I hesitate. This is big. This is bigger than my wings, bigger than my hair and eyes. This is something deep and dangerous that could go seriously wrong if anyone knew about it. But… I couldn’t let Jace go in alone. I needed to make sure that he was alright. As much as I hate to admit it, I have a little bit of separation anxiety.

       Knowing that, at any moment, my brother could be taken from me again was nerve wracking. The thought of it was enough to make me hyperventilate, and if it actually happened I have no idea what I would do. Now that he was my _parabatai_ , an integral part of who I was, made me even more fearful. Nobody important to the Clave knew of our bond, which meant that nobody would care if we were separated. So that’s why I’m taking this plunge. Telling Clary, a girl I’ve barely known for a few weeks, a secret that took me years to come to grips with. 

       “I want you to Mark me too,” I say quietly. “But what you’re going to need to do is Mark me with a Fear rune.” Clary’s jaw drops in surprise, green eyes wide with disbelief.

       “Fear?” she whisper-yells. “ _Fear?_ I’m not Marking you with a Fear rune! I know what that does! You’re not going to last a second if I do that, much less bring down the Demon of Fear!” I hold a hand out to stop the tirade.

       “We don’t have time for questions,” I say bluntly. “All you need to know is hat it’s a story best told later, and that I know what I’m doing.”

       “But—”

       “Clary,” I snap. “Have I ever been wrong yet?” My cousin hesitates, mouth opening and closing, lost for words. “Mark me,” I say firmly, reaching into my pocket for my stele, pressing it into her hand.

       “W-where?” the redhead finally asks hesitantly.

       “On my back,” I reply. “The closer to the heart, the better the rune works.” I pause, about to lift the hem of my hoodie. “Do you know what the rune looks like?” Clary shakes her head no, and I frown before I remember the Sharpie. Whipping the marker out quickly, I shove my sleeve up as I uncap the pen with my free hand and mouth. Holding the cap firmly in my mouth, I sketch out the rune on my forearm. I mess up a few times on purpose, dwelling on how many ways that this could all go wrong. 

       But _worry_ is already dancing through the _parabatai_  bond, and I know that it’s coming from both Jace and Alec. And I want to make that worry disappear so badly. Even if they weren’t just teenagers, my brother and the Lightwood boy shouldn’t be afraid of the things they were. Jace shouldn’t be afraid of connecting with his family, because Jak and I used to—should have been—enough. 

       Alec shouldn’t be terrified of his own father, hypocritical as that sounds. He shouldn’t get panic attacks about not being the model Shadowhunter, shouldn’t be expected to keep Jade, Izzy and Max in check all at once. Their pain is my pain, because that’s how closely this bond links us. Being in a three-way _parabatai_  bond is no joke, let me tell you. It’s overwhelming and confusing almost all the time, impossible to tell your own emotions apart from your partners’. 

       But one thing that has always been a constant in my life is chaos. And if I want to keep on living, I need to be able to deal with the different levels of disorder and confusion that my life is turning out to be. So I draw the Fear rune for Clary to see, steeling myself against the damning truth of my runes.


	23. Chapter 23

       “Can you copy it?” I ask shortly, showing Clary the rune. The nod she gives me is hesitant, but I quickly brush aside the worry. _Curiosity_ blooms in my chest, and I look over my shoulder as I turn, pulling my hoodie up to expose my back. A warm hand brushes against my wings, and I quickly shift my wings aside to give my cousin better access. Jace and Luke seem to have concluded their talk, and I can see my brother’s golden eyes fixed on me.

       Wordlessly, I turn back around and hold my arm up to expose the black Sharpie of the Fear rune, both for Clary to reference off of and for Jace to see. Even from that far away, I have no doubt that he can see it. The _curiosity_ dissolves, replaced by _resolve_ , and Clary presses my stele to my shoulder. I don’t comment on how hard the redhead presses, welcoming the pain with open arms. All too soon, it’s over and I feel strength and power and bravery course through my whole body.

       “Someone’s coming,” I hear Luke say all of a sudden. I turn quickly, letting my hoodie drop, tucking it so that it doesn’t cover the hilt of Jehoel. Someone was coming—two someone’s, actually. In the light of the now-setting sun, I can make out the silhouette of two fall forms, once with long black hair that blows in the wind and the other with their hair pulled back. I grin, jogging over to Luke and Jace.

       “Magnus,” Clary says, following at my heels. “But he looks… different.” I glance at her before refocusing my attention on my twin and my father. They're close enough now for me to realize why Clary was surprised. Magnus is dressed casually, black hair straight instead of his usual glittery spikes, dressed in an old-fashioned suit darker than Shadowhunter gear and a matching frock coat with silver buttons that shine in the remaining sun. Jak, on the other hand, is all long, graceful limbs, manga shirt visible under an unzipped leather jacket, black jeans worn at the knees and chunky black combat boots. I note, with no small amount of satisfaction, that Magnus isn’t hiding his warlock status, golden cat eyes glowing in the semi-darkness.

       “You look surprised to see me,” my dad says once he’s a few feet away. I smile widely, and Jak quickly closes the distance between the two of us to pull me into a one-armed hug. A nervous _joy_  blooms in my chest as Jace lays eyes on my twin. Jak himself offers our brother a casual fist bump. The _relief_  and _happiness_  exploding in my chest makes me smile even bigger. 

       “We did wonder if you were coming,” Jace replies dryly.

       “I said I would come, so I came,” Magnus says sharply. “I just needed time to prepare. This isn’t some hat trick, Shadowhunter, this is going to take some serious magic.” Some of the warlock’s ire dissipates as he turns to his fellow Downworlder. “How’s the arm?” 

       “Fine, thank you,” Luke replied politely.

       “That’s your truck parked up by the factory, right?” Jak asks, having released me from the bone-crushing hug in order to rummage around in a duffel that I only just notice. “Bit much of a redneck vibe for a bookseller.”

       “Oh, I don’t know,” the werewolf says with an easy shrug. “All that lugging around heavy book boxes, climbing stacks, hard-core alphabetizing…” A corner of my twin’s mouth quirks up as he straightens, rolling out his shoulders as Magnus laughs.

       “Can you unlock the truck for me?” the warlock asks. “I mean, I could do it myself” —he wiggles his fingers, and Jak grins— “but that seems rude.” 

       “Sure,” the bookseller replies with another shrug. The two Downworlders set off towards the factory, an odd pair but similar nevertheless. Clary makes to follow them, but Jace catches her arm.

       “Wait,” I hear the blonde mutter. “I want to talk to you for a second.” I turn away from the two after that, allowing them privacy that I don’t think that I’ll be afforded for much longer. Jak is holding Zadkiel, a dagger clenched between his teeth and a seraph blade jammed under one arm as he buckled on his weapons belt. I roll my eyes, taking the seraph and Zadkiel in order to leave my twin’s hands free.

       “Famphs,” the silver and black-haired boy grunts from around the dagger. I grin at him, handing the weapons back when he’s done adjusting the belt. The seraph blade and Zadkiel are strapped on either side of Jak’s waist, the dagger shoved into his boot. He bends down again to rummage through the duffel.

       “What’s in there?” I ask quietly, hovering over my twin.

       “Magnus magicked up some weapons for me,” Jak replies. He stands back up, a familiar bottle of liquid in his hands. “Here,” he adds, offering it to me. I take the glamor, looking at it contemplatively. Because for the first time in ages, I feel comfortable around people who aren’t Jak and Magnus. It’s new and it’s terrifying, but I feel like I don’t need to hide around Alec, Jace, Clary, Luke, Simon and Izzy. And there’s also the Fear rune that takes away my terror, which always helps. 

       But everyone is screwed up in their own way, and the way that we all fit together seems to be stitching us up, little by little. I look back up, meeting Jak’s silver and gold eyes, filled with to much worry even for a Shadowhunter. Or… as close to one as we were, that is. I slip the glamour into the pocket of my hoodie and turn to join Magnus, Clary and Jace, who have all gathered by the truck without us. I hear Jak follow me, weapons in the duffel making muffled clanking noises as he does.

       “—might have been the first recorded Mark,” Magnus is saying. “It certainly protected him.”

       “But he was hardly one of the angels,” Clary objects. “Didn’t he kill his brother?” Jak snorts loudly, announcing our presence.

       “We’re about to kill our uncle—father in your case,” my twin points out. “It’s not like we're any better.”

       “That’s different,” my cousin protests. She doesn’t get any time to elaborate, because at that moment Luke’s truck pulls up next to us with a crunch of gravel, the werewolf himself in the driver’s seat.

       “Okay,” Luke announces, leaning out the window. “Here we go. Get in.”

       “Are we going to drive to the boat?” Clary queries, expression bewildered. A faint sense of _curiosity_ and _confusion_ is coming from Jace as well.

       “What boat?” Magnus cackles, swinging into the passenger seat beside Luke. “You four, get in the back,” the warlock adds, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. Jak shrugs, tossing his duffel in ahead of him before clambering up into the bed of the truck himself.

       “Holy shit,” I hear him say. “This is really cool. Jess, c’mere.” I raise an eyebrow, gripping the side of the bed of the truck in order to pull myself over. 

       “Oh, wow,” I mutter, staring at the surface underneath my feet. “That is cool.” A black pentagram inside of a circle has been painted onto the floor of the truck bed, arms decorated with wildly winding symbols that I don’t know the meaning of, interlocking to form a delicate pattern.

       The wind picks up as Clary and Jace climb in behind me, biting through my hoodie and settling in my bones. I don’t let it bother me, though, because part of Valentine’s training had been to be able to continue fighting no matter the circumstances. Luke leans out the window again, the wind snatching his words away moments after they leave his mouth.

       “You know I don’t like this,” the werewolf says. “Clary, you’re going to stay in the truck with Jak and Magnus. Jace, Jessa and I will go up onto the ship. You understand?” My cousin nods dutifully, contrasting the worry visible on her face, huddling into a corner of the truck bed. Jace settles beside her, bracing his feet against the metal surface.

       I pick at the sleeve of my hoodie thoughtfully as I kneel at the side of the truck. Jak remains standing, stance wide so as to remain balanced once the truck begins to move. Looking down at my lap, I realize that my hoodie is much too long to wear into battle. It covers the hilt of Jehoel, as well as blocking access to my cards. I bite my lip as I consider my options. I could either take it off and leave my wings in full view, broadcasting them to the world, or keep them on and risk not having complete access to all of my weapons, each of which could make the difference between life and death.

       But there’s no fear lurking in my thoughts, only stone cold logic. And that logic says that every weapon makes a difference. 

       “This is going to be interesting,” I hear Jace mutter, distracting me from my thoughts, a wobbly sort of _glee_ dancing in my chest.

       “What—“ 

       Before Clary can finish, the truck’s engine revs, tires roaring against gravel and smothering her words in their noise. With a massive lurch, the vehicle heads to the shallow water at the edge of the river. Dizzying blue pillars of light burst into existence, spilling over the sides of the truck and winding around the wheels. The truck bucks, almost like we’d driven over something, before settling down. It’s smooth, eerily so, like we’re gliding over the water.

       Which was, in fact, what I realized we were doing after peering over the side. I rise to my feet in order to stand by my twin, who’s still upright. No surprise there. He must’ve Marked himself with a Sure-Footed or a Balance rune at the very least; and even without those, his balance was still amazing. The truck is cruising along at a speed that sends stray orange hairs whipping out of my face, streaming out behind me in a wispy little cloud.

       “This is really going to impress Valentine,” I hear Jace quip.

       “I don’t know,” Clary says. “Other crack teams get bat boomerangs and wall-crawling powers; we get the Aquatruck.”

       “Don’t diss the Aquatruck,” Jak says amusedly. “We could’ve called in a favor from the mermaids and had them take us to the ship.” I roll my eyes at their banter, moving towards the back of the truck bed, away from where Jace and Clary are seated. The fresh air clears my mind, let’s me get a better grip on my emotions, separating them from my _parabatai’s_.

       I know that Valentine knows me in a twisted sort of way—a way that means that he can dig his nails under my skin and peel it off, leave me vulnerable. It’s terrifying, because that skin is a layer that I’ve worked hard to maintain, worked to make sure that nobody can really know how I feel. Or, it usually would be. If there wasn’t a rune that took away all my fear drawn on my back. A simmering _rage_ is bubbling right under my breastbone, from both Alec and Jace.

       The farther from shore we get, the less I can connect with the Lightwood boy, but I can tell that this _rage_ is for Jace and for Max and for Izzy. Because Alec is the eldest sibling, the one who protects them all—and has, in mind, body and soul. That worries me. Because I’m worried that those marks on his body, placed there by his own father, are going to stain his soul. Jak nudges me, breaking me out of my increasingly dark thoughts. He’d snuck up in me while I was distracted.

       “Hey,” he says gently. “Don’t worry. This is something that you won’t be going through alone. You’ve got Magnus, you’ve got Luke and most importantly we’ve got our big brother back. We make a great crack team.” I smirk, playing with the hem of my hoodie that falls over Jehoel. Jak’s eyes drop to my hands, and a small frown makes the corners of his mouth dip. “Is your balance going to be a problem?” he asks concernedly. “If it is, I can always follow you up to watch your back.” I shake my head.

       “It was the first few weeks, but it’s back to normal.” My twin’s silver patches in his hair are glowing ever so slightly in the vanishing sun, and his mismatched eyes seem to bore into my soul. Those eyes have always given us trouble. Downworlders would think that Jak was a gentry fae who rode with the Wild Hunt, which often led to confusion.

       More recently (by a year, but the wound is still fresh), my twin couldn’t look in a mirror without thinking of the land of Faerie and the scars that marked his entire body. I look into those eyes now, and see my reflection in them. I look nervous, but also determined, a sort of steel in my eyes. My cheeks are flushed from the cold wind, nose pink. I drop my eyes to my hands, which have spilled on the hem of my hoodie. 

       My jaw clenches, and my hands fist in the soft material of the oversized sweatshirt, dragging it up and over my head. The pressure on my wings is finally released, and they fan out on either side of me. Jak moves quickly to avoid being hit, eyes wide with wonder as he stares at the feathered appendages. _Wonder_ is filling my stomach now, and I glance back at Jace. His golden eyes meet mine, and I can’t feel anything other than _pride_ and _wonder_ and _joy_. I breathe in the crisp, sharp September air biting at my exposed skin. My wings seem to tug to the sky, begging to move and pull me up, up, up. Away from Valentine, away from the Clave, away from Shadowhunters.

       But I stay in the truck bed, Jehoel a reassuring weight at my side. Something familiar among all this madness, a constant from my childhood that’s remained with me until now. If it’s up to me, I’m going to take this blade to the grave. Screw cremation. You’re prying Jehoel out of my cold dead hands. An unnaturally warm arm winds its way around my shoulders, and my wings come up instinctively to wrap around Jak in return. My twin grins down at me, and I roll my eyes as I curl in closer to his warmth. From the front of the truck bed, I can hear shifting.

       “Are you cold?” I hear Jace ask Clary.

       “Aren’t you?” I hear her reply.

       “No.” Because just like Jak and me, he’d gone through the same training. The same abuse. “You’re going to stay in the truck like Luke told you to, right?” 

       “Do I have a choice?”

       “Not in the literal sense, no.” There’s a few beats of silence.

       “You’ll find Simon for me,” Clary suddenly says. “I know you will.” _Guilt_ and _worry_ invaded my mind, and I purse my lips.

       “Clary,” Jace says gently. “He may be—I mean, it may be—“ 

       “No,” Clary says flatly, stating a fact. “He’ll be all right. He has to be.” I frown slightly, thinking of Maia. What about her? What about the werewolf girl whose fate matches Simon’s if we don’t get there fast enough? My brother exhales heavily.

       “There’s something I want to ask you,” he says. I feel uncomfortable all of a sudden, because the _love_ , _regret_ , _want_ and _hope_ tangling in my stomach makes me feel like I’m intruding. “I was afraid to ask before,” the blonde continues. “But now I’m not afraid of anything.” There’s shifting, and I try my best not to listen, to give my cousins privacy that they so clearly need. But then all movement ceases, just as a dark shadow creeps over the truck, extinguishing the setting sun altogether.

       Jak and I both turn away from the water, craning our necks in an attempt to take the entire monstrosity of our uncle’s ship in. It’s made of corrugated black metal, that much I can tell with the assistance of both my Vision rune (Blinding rune in my case) and blue sparks emitting from Magnus’ spell. As we draw closer, the roar of the ship’s engine drowns out almost all noise, and I can spot a thin rope ladder hanging limply from the side of the ship.

       At the very top, misshapen birds, that I highly doubt are actually birds, are perched on a railing that wraps around all of the ship visible to me. All it takes is a second, in which I tear my eyes away from the massive ship in front of me in order to glance at Jak. There’s movement in my peripheral vision, and the ‘birds’ on the railing are moving, dropping like stones one by one. And then they’re leveling out, making a beeline for the battered truck that I stand on.

       The truck stops in place, and as the demons draw closer I can make out massive, leathery wings and bony heads like a pterodactyl. They let out an ear-shattering screech, and I see that their mouths are lined with shark-like teeth, talons glinting in the blue light of Magnus’ magic. Jak and I spread out, drawing our respective swords and invoking their names. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jace scramble up onto the roof of the cab, Telantes a blazing beacon of light in his hand.

       Clary’s hair is pure red flame in the light of Abrariel. And then the first wave of demons falls upon the cab. Jace surges forwards in a blazing blur of motion, flinging his blade so that it shears the top of the demon’s head off like a knife through butter. I barely stop to watch the demon fall with a screech, wings spasming. I launch my self into the air, wings pushing me forwards, spinning in order to slice the next demon’s wings off. Ichor splatters over my knuckles, but I barely notice it as I drop towards the ocean before surging up to stab my blade through the underbelly of another winged soldier of hell.

       Jak laughs from behind me, and I quickly arch in the air, redirecting my flight to lead me back to the truck. Choosing my landing carefully, I drop out of the sky like I’m diving into a pool of water, Jehoel held out in front of me and shearing through the head of a demon upon landing. For a split second, I’m in a perfect handstand, balanced upon Jehoel’s hilt. But then I tip forwards into a backend, feet planted firmly against the floor of the truck cab. 

       Surging up to my feet, I use my momentum to yank Jehoel out of the skull of the demon, flinging it forwards. It embeds itself firmly in the side of another pterodactyl imposter. The sting of my arms tells me that there’s more ichor on me, but I muscle through the pain as I stride forwards to yank my blade out of the demon before it dissolved. There’s a crash and shattering of glass that makes me whip around quickly, just as I see a demon force its way into the truck cab.

       “Magnus!” I scream, not caring who may hear me. My father is in trouble, and that takes priority in the heat of the moment, where I’m scared for the best thing that could ever possibly happen to me. But then something collides with my side, sending my flying to the other side of the cab. Jak rolls off me quickly, pulling me to my feet hastily. All of a sudden the sound of tearing metal fills the air, something that I can hear even over the overpowering rumble of Valentine’s ship.

       Two of the demons had dug their claws into the roof of the truck cab, and are now yanking it off. The sound of shrieking metal hurts my ears, but then a dark form leaps out of a now-broken window to swipe at them with a blade that glints in the faint light that manages to make it over the dark metal of the ship. One falls to the side easily, vanishing into black smoke before it can even make contact with the water below.

       But the remaining one surges up in a powerful flap of its wings with a triumphant screech. Without further ado, it wheels around to head back to my uncle’s ship. The sky is clear now, free of any malevolent demons or otherwise. The first thing I do is drop Jehoel to the truck bed, sprinting towards the now-vulnerable truck cab.

       “Magnus?” I call again, this time much more quietly, peering over the remains of the frame. My dad is slumped in his seat, face gray but unharmed as far as I can see.

       “Mags?” Jak asks quietly, coming to stand at my side. “You alright?”

       “Yes,” the warlock replies, struggling upright before falling back against the seat once more. “I’m just—drained. The protection sells on the ship are strong. Stripping them, keeping them off is—difficult.” In the dim lighting, I can see Magnus’ jaw set. “But if I don’t do it, anyone who sets foot on that ship, other than Valentine, will die.” 

       “Maybe you should come with us,” Luke suggests, coming to stand over Magnus on the hood of his truck.

       “I can’t work on the wards if I’m on the ship itself,” Magnus explains, shaking his head. “I have to do it from here. That’s the way it works.” The grin that the warlock gives is pained. “Besides, I’m no good in a fight. My talents lie elsewhere.” Jak snorts, but before he can say anything Clary opens her mouth.

       “But what if we need—“ 

       “Clary!” Luke suddenly exclaims. His warning is too late—with a rush of wings, one last winged demon surges up and launches itself at my cousin, talons latching into her jacket. Nobody had noticed it clinging to the truck, and we pay for that now as we watch it make off with the redhead hanging helplessly from its claws.


	24. Chapter 24

       “Clary!” Luke yells again, leaping over the seats and into the truck cab, leaning over the edge to stare up at the retreating demon. I can see Clary struggle, and silently pray that she has enough sense to stop, because by now the demon has risen to height that could kill my cousin should she be dropped.

       “It won’t kill her,” Jace says, joining the werewolf at the edge of the truck bed. “It’s retrieving her for Valentine.” _Worry_ courses through my veins like blood, making my heart beat like a frantic butterfly, trapped in a jar. A faint strain of _determination_ is barely detectable from Alec’s side, and I pray that that’s a good sign. _Uncomfort_ from Jace makes me realize that Luke is staring at the blonde intently.

       “But—“ 

       There’s a splash, and I race to the side of the truck bed to see Jace in the river, swimming towards the ship with strong strokes that churn water into froth. Swearing quietly under my breath, I snatch Jehoel from its place on the floor of the truck bed before leaping over to join my brother in the water. It’s freezing, but the Cold rune on my bicep burns as it begins to work, warming me up.

       Another splash behind me tells me that Luke is following, and I lift my arm to begin moving, trying not to think about the things that dwell in the deep. I draw closer to my brother with every stroke, the cold beginning to bite through the heat of my Cold rune, but only slightly. My wings are deadweight on my back, and my arms are burning with effort because of that. I’m not sure what I expected, though; they had deflected a seraph blade that one time.

       I follow Jace to the ladder, which hangs down the side of Valentine’s ship like a limp noodle, and tread water as I wait for Luke to catch up. The cold is burrowing through my little blanket of warmth, seeming intent on making itself a home in my injured leg. Jace doesn’t wait, instead lifting both arms to pull himself up the first rung. I watch him climb, craning my neck to do so. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me that Luke is close enough, and I use my burning legs to propel me over to the ladder, gripping it in both slippery hands.

       Jace’s feet are retreating faster than before, so I deem it safe enough to begin climbing myself. Pulling my whole body out of the water is much more effort than I remember, and the unfamiliar weight of my wings almost makes me tip backwards. The wet soles of my boots, nor the sharp pain in my leg do any good to my balance either. Getting my teeth, I cling to the ladder even tighter than before, knuckles white against the cold iron rungs. Once I’m steady enough, I loosen my grip ever-so-slightly and begin to climb.

       One hand over the other, one foot after the other. Again and again and again, until Jace’s feet begin to draw closer. Movement at the bottom of the ladder tells me that Luke has begun to climb, and I urge my muscles to work faster. The climb seems to take forever, the pain in my limbs building—until Jace’s feet disappear over the side of the ship and my hand hits the wood of a deck. I struggle for a few seconds, cursing my wings, before finding purchase and hauling my ass over the edge.

       I roll onto my side, breathing hard. My limbs don’t seem to want to cooperate, refusing to move from their position. My wings are soaked, and the water is seeping into the material of my shirt. The wound from Abbadon, previously painless, throbs with a stinging pain. I groan faintly. I need to practice more. A dark silhouette appears in my peripheral vision, and instinct compels my muscles into movement, sending me from a spread-eagle position to a semi-defensive sitting one.

       I relax again once I realize that it’s Luke, the only one out of the three of us who doesn’t seem dead on his feet.

       “You all right?” I hear the werewolf ask. I groan again, tugging my stele out. A quick Somnos rune that should’ve put me to sleep quickly rejuvenates me, giving me energy to pull myself to my feet and stay on them.

       “Fine,” I hear Jace reply. Standing up, I realize that it’s even colder than in the water, since my Cold rune is beginning to wear off. I turn to face the blonde, crossing my arms and wrapping my right around the hilt of Jehoel to ground myself. “Somewhere there’s a door that leads into the ship,” my brother announces. “I found it last time. We just have to walk around the dec until we find it again.” Luke starts forward, but my brother quickly steps in front of him. “Let me go first,” the blonde adds.

       I tip my head back and release a final groan, before following them both to the curved aft of the ship. It’s silent, save for the slight creaking of the ship and the slap, slap, slap of water against the bow far below us.

       “Your father,” Luke finally says. “What did he say to you when you saw him? What did he promise you.” A small seed of _surprise_ blooms in my chest briefly, before being squashed.

       “Oh, you know,” Jace says flippantly. “The usual. A lifetime’s supply of Knicks tickets.” An unidentifiable feeling that’s so _dark_ that it blacks out other emotions for a moment descends on me. “He said he’d make sure no harm came to me o anyone I cared about if I’d leave the Clave and return to Idris with him.” I frown in sympathy. Knowing Jace, I knew that that decision must have been the hardest one of is life. Because what my brother does is he gives and gives and gives without wanting anything back. No—he gives without expecting anything back, because he doesn’t think that he deserves anything back. 

       “Do you think—“

       Luke cuts himself off, brow wrinkled. “Do you think he’d hurt Clary to get back at you?” the werewolf finishes as we round the bow. I can see the Statue of Liberty from here, her light a shining beacon of warmt that tugs me closer. I turn away from it, focusing instead on the strange pair beside me.

       “No,” my brother says flatly. “I think he took her to make me, if not Jessa and Jak, come onto the boat like this, to give him a bargaining chip. That’s all.”

       “I’m not sure he needs a bargaining chip,” Luke says, unsheathing his kindjal all of a sudden. I swear as I follow the werewolf’s gaze, unsheathing an ice-cold Jehoel and muttering its name. Because before the three of us is a massive black hole in the deck, so dark that it could’ve been the entrance to hell. And it might as well have been, because demons of all kinds are pouring from it. Bleached-white Raum, green-skinned Oni with their tiny goat-like horns, Kuri demons that take the form of spiders with poisonous fangs jutting from their eye sockets and eight pinchered legs—the list goes on. 

       Jace draws Camael, invoking its name so that the harsh white flare of heavenly light illuminates the deck. The demons hiss, but none back away. I try to steady my breathing. Don’t want to use the Fear rune up before I can get to Agramon. Resolve pulses through the parabatai bond, and almost as if we were one person, Jace and I start forwards. A hand pulls both of us back, though.

       “Stop! Stop!” Luke says. “There’s too many. If we can get back the ladder—“

       “We can’t,” my brother says grimly, yanking himself out of the werewolf’s strong hold. He points behind us. “They’ve cut us off on both sides.” My eyes widen, and my gaze shoots to the ladder. It’s true: Moloch demons, eyes replaced by jets of flame, block our only escape. Unless we want to jump overboard. A fierce sort of _hunger_ is growing in my belly, and I rein Jace’s recklessness in as much as I can. “You jump,” my brother says. “We’re fine here.” Luke throws his head back, ears pointed. The werewolf snarls at my _parabatai_ , lips drawing back to reveal sharp canines.

       “You—“

       He’s cut off by a Moloch demon, which leaps at him with its claws outstretched, ready to tear through skin and bone. My brother stabs it casually as it speeds by, and it stumbles into Luke with a yowl that reminds me of a dying donkey. The bookseller grabs it in both flawed hands, chucking the demon over the railing.

       “You used that Fearless rune, didn’t you?” he demands, eyes glowing an amber to match my contacts. A distant splash tells me that the Moloch has hit the water. 

       “You’re not wrong,” Jace replies petulantly. I roll my eyes, raising Jehoel in a defensive stance.

       “Christ,” I hear the Downworlder mutter. “Did you put it on yourself?”

       “No. Clary put it on me.” I swing my seraph blade, scything down two Drevak demons. That seems to enrage the others, because now they’re all lurching forward like creepy mannequins, hands (if you can call them that) tipped with poisonous needles outstretched. “She’s good at that, you know,” my brother finishes behind me. I clear my throat loudly, using one hand to send a few cards flying.

       “Teenagers,” I hear Luke snarl. And then the Drevak demons come within reach and it’s chaos. 

       Jace and I fight back to back. I’ve never been in a real battle with my _parabatai_ before, but now… Well, it makes me wonder why there aren’t more _parabatai_. My senses seem to be amplified, past the point of a rune, and it’s almost like I have eyes on the back of my head. A Kuri scuttles up, and Jace swings around without prompting, sliding across the deck alongside me with Camael outstretched, mirroring me. We slide under the demon, seraph blades cutting through its legs like a knife through warm butter.

       Rolling to our feet in synchronization, we both twist to stab a few Moloch in the chests. Ichor splatters over my hand, but I ignore the burn and pirouette as I withdraw a throwing star, flinging it with a powerful flick of my wrist. It punches through the chest of an Oni, embedding itself in the head of a Kuri standing behind it. They both crumple to the deck, and that’s all I have time to see before an Iblis demon lunges at me, all black smoke and burning yellow eyes.

       I dive into a roll, and it speeds right by me, straight into Jace’s extended blade. Ichor splatters all over the deck, eating through my clothes and burning my skin. But there’s no time to draw an Agony rune, much less an iratze for Jace. Demons keep on coming, the deck already slicked with ichor. My hair hangs lank around my face, sticky with ichor, blood and sweat. Jehoel is light in my hands, though, so I keep on swinging. As I weave under an attacking Dahak demon’s writhing tentacles, something catches my eye. It’s a small recess in the unforgiving black metal of the ship, a perfect place to shelter from the demons and have something against our backs.

       “Jace!” I yell, chopping off the Dahak’s tentacles. One thuds against my wounded leg, sending a shooting pain throughout the limb. I shake it off quickly, making eye contact with my _parabatai_ over the corpse of the demon that I just killed. The blonde follows my gaze, and his golden eyes light up in understanding. Raising Camael, he hacks his way through the sea of demons towards me.

       “Ready?” he murmurs once he’s close enough. I nod stiffly, raising Jehoel. “Luke!” Jace yells over the roars of the demons. The werewolf looks over, claws embedded in the chest of an Elapid, a snake-headed demon with jointed bodies and a hundred legs that end in jagged claws. The demon collapses to the deck as the alpha releases it, bounding over a few Kuri in order to make it all the way to where Jace and I stand. 

       “There’s a recess over there,” my _parabatai_ explains quickly, the only emotion distinguishable through our bond a burning _determination_. “We get there and we have something to our backs. The demons will have to come to us.” Luke nods, amber eyes narrowing.

       “On three?” I ask quietly, eyes narrowed as I watch the demons regroup.

       “Three!” Jace yells, lunging forwards. I’m right at his heels, Luke by my side, and together the three of us carve a path through the demons. More blood streaks my orange hair, turning it into a mocking parody of a bloody sunrise. Sweat runs down my face, getting in my eyes, and I quickly blink it away before it can impede my vision too much. Gore coats my hands, demon blood burning holes through my shirt and pants. My arms are mottled with marks left by ichor, and they sting like a bitch whenever I move them.

       One deck of my cards is used up by the time Luke, Jace and I reach the relative safety of the recess, and I swing Jehoel around in a deadly arc to behead an Amphisbaena, basically a giant chicken covered in tentacles and with really sharp teeth. It splatters more black demon ichor everywhere, and I swear as I bring up my arms to cover my face. The blood seems to be lighting my skin on fire by now, and I grit my teeth as the pain bites into me, latching onto my bones and gnawing at them with its teeth.

       But there’s no rest for the wicked, and the demons are only proving that as a small wave of Cecaelia demons, blobs with tentacles for legs and snakey green tongues, approach. I reach for my second deck of cards, fingers slightly numb. With a quick flick of my wrist, though, five cards sail out like miniature meteors and embed themselves in the heads of the demons. Blood drips down my arm—not a demons, but my own. It’s from a cut that stretches from the back of my hand to about halfway down my forearm.

       It’s shallow, so I probably have nothing to worry about, but it hurts anyways combined with my ichor and poison burns. A Kuri scuttles forwards, lightning fast, chittering menacingly and jetting yellow poison. Jace and I both duck to the side, but my _parabatai_ isn’t far enough away to be able to avoid all of the poison. I can hear the hiss as it eats through his shirt, most likely stinging his skin. The poison intended for us splatters against an Oni demon, and the hideous green monstrosity screams in agony as it thrashes over to the spider-like demon, razor-sharp claws extended.

       The two creatures of hell grapple together, rolling across the deck in a mishmash of disgusting limbs. _Disgust_ and _rage_ roar through the bond that I share with my brother, and my eyes are wide as I turn to him. The demons that had previously been approaching have surged away due to the spilled poison still sizzling on the deck, allowing Jace, Luke and me a quick breather.

       My eyes rake over the blonde, and I spot a deep cut in his arm. Whipping out my stele with senseless, ichor, blood and gore-covered hands, I yank my _parabatai’s_ arm towards me roughly, sketching out a quick Agony rune. Luke stands at our side, ears sharp and wolfish, lips drawn back in a permanent snarl. His hands, like both Jace and mine, are black with demon ichor. 

       “We should go for the railings,” the werewolf growls as Jace snatches the stele from me, albeit with some difficulty due to our wet hands. “Get off the ship. We can’t kill them all. Maybe Magnus—“ 

       “I don’t think we’re doing too badly,” Jace replies as he finishes the Agony rune, handing me the stele. I almost drop it, fingers unfeeling and clumsy. That’s bad, right? “All things considered,” my brother adds flippantly. Luke makes a noise that’s a mixture of a snarl and a laugh. But then something massive drops out of the sky, slamming into all three of us. I hit the ground hard, Jehoel skittering across the deck.

       The wind is knocked out of me, but I stagger upright, wheezing, and make a beeline towards Jehoel. It’s only when I hold my seraph blade in hand do I wheel to face the Oni demon that had knocked me to the deck. It’s massive for its kind, and the fact that it had thought of climbing up onto the roof and dropping down from us above was eerily smart. It’s sitting on top of Luke, slashing at him with the tusks that sprout from its forehead.

       The werewolf is doing his best to defend himself with his own claws, but he’s already bathed in blood, kindjal a foot away on the deck. The bookseller makes a grab for it, but the Oni seizes his leg in a hand as big and chunky as a shovel, bringing it down on its knee as if to break a tree branch. It might as well have been, because I can hear bone break with an audible snap as Luke cries out.

       I raise Jehoel over my head, too far away to run over in time, and fling it as hard as I can. It punches straight through the Oni’s head, coming out on the other side to embed itself in the metal of the wall behind it. I sprint forwards, kneeling beside Luke.

       “Your leg—“ 

       “It’s broken,” the werewolf grunts as I feel the presence of my _parabatai_ behind me. There’s the sound of metal shrieking against metal, and then the glowing blade of Jehoel appears in my peripheral vision. I help Luke prop himself up into a sitting position, brow furrowed.

       “You heal fast, though, right?” I ask, pulling my short swords from my belt.

       “Not fast enough,” the werewolf replies, knuckles white around his retrieved kindjal. The sound of scraping reaches my ears, and I look up. The sight that greets me makes my jaw drop in surprise. Because the other demons had followed the Oni’s example, swarming up onto the roof in hundreds. I glance up at my _parabatai_ , and see that Jace’s jaw is set in determination. I breathe out slowly, climbing to my feet and passing the short swords to Jace in exchange for Jehoel.

       “Do you have any weapons left?” I ask grimly. Sorrow blooms in my gut, and my brother shakes his head. That’s all the time we have before the demons above plunge downwards in a dark wave. Both Jace and I immediately retreat to shelter Luke, but it doesn’t really matter. Demons are everywhere, boxing us in and advancing with inhuman speed. A six-foot skeleton rears up in front of Jace, scraps of Tibetan prayer flags hanging from its rotting bones.

       Cracked, broken teeth grin at us eerily, a katana inscribed with demonic runes and longer than my arm is gripped in a bony hand. Jace flings a dagger—probably one of his last weapons—and it flies true, striking the skeleton in the rib cage. It doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to advance on my brother. A loud, shrieking cry alerts me to the presence of an Iblis, and I lunge forward to meet it, desperate to keep Luke safe and give him time to heal. But even as I cut the demon down, a dozen more take its place.

       Sickly yellow Kuri poison splatters onto my shirt, which is already pockmarked with holes from ichor and flame. An Elapid stabs at me with one of its hundreds of clawed legs, and I dodge, almost straight onto an Oni’s tusk. I swear, diving to the side and kick the Oni’s feet out from under it, rolling to the side as it falls. I impale it through the head with Jehoel—but then an ice-cold, slimy tentacles grips me by the neck, lifting me up into the air.

       I gasp for air, the putrid scent of the Dahak’s tentacles making me gag. Fumbling fingers struggle to keep a firm grip on Jehoel, but then the demon begins to reel me in, lips drawn back to bare two dripping fangs. I clench my jaw, hand shaking as I struggle to raise Jehoel. Oxygen deprivation makes me dizzy, and the stench doesn’t help at all. 

       Jehoel slips through my fingers, landing on the deck, and I struggle against the tentacle. I can’t lose my blade. It’s mine. The massive fangs of the Dahak draw closer, and I clench my eyes shut, hands fisted at my sides. My head is light, and I can barely focus. It’s getting hard to move.


	25. Chapter 25

       But then there’s a _thwip_ and an arrow embeds itself in the center of the Dahak’s forehead. Almost immediately, the ugly octopus folds in on itself, crumbling into dust. I drop to the deck wheezing, and a shadow falls over me as _worry_ courses through the bond.

       “Are you okay?” Alec asks, helping me up. I nod shakily, knuckles white on Jehoel’s hilt. _Doubt_ pulses for a brief second, but the Lightwood lets me go reluctantly, readying his bow. I grimace as the leg that Abbadon impaled throbs in pain, limping to stand back to back with my _parabatai_. Kuri demons, about eight of them in total, quickly take the chance to encircle the two of us. I lift Jehoel and swing it like a scythe, mowing down the demons in my side as the _thwip thwip thwip thwip_ of arrows flying comes from behind me.

       Together, Alec and I power through a small group of Elapid demons, an Oni, Iblis and four Dahak. Both of us are dripping with sweat, gore and blood, but neither of us have time to apply healing runes. A loud rip reaches my ears, and I swing Jehoel low, where it cuts the legs of Rahab, who look like bipedal lizards with fangs, tusks and a bone-edged tail. Alec curses, slinging his bow over his back and drawing a guisarme while I cover him.

        _Triumph_ flashes through the bond, and I step aside just in time for Alec to bring his weapon down on the head of a hellhound.  _Surprise_ and _sorrow_ suddenly jolts through the bond, and Alec and I both stop in our tracks. _Worry_ lurches in my gut, and if I didn’t have the Fear rune burning into my back, I’d be scared. Because that emotion must have been strong for Alec to have felt it. Our eyes meet, and the ravenette’s are wide and scared.

       “Jace,” he breathes. Then he plunges into the crowd of Shadowhunters and demons, following the tug in his gut to lead him to his parabatai. I burst out of the crowd on Alec’s heels, just in time to see him haul Jace to his feet. My brother’s hands dart to his belt, then back to his sides once he realizes that he’s weaponless.

       “You’re alive,” Alec murmurs.  _Relief, exhaustion_ and _love_ blooms in my chest, and I limp forwards to pull my brother into a one-armed hug.

       “I seem to be,” Jace replies, almost dazed. “I won’t be for long if you don’t give me a weapon, though.” I roll my eyes.

       “I just gave you two swords,” I mutter under my breath as Alec hands over another blade.

       “Here,” the ravenette says. “It’s called Samandriel.” Jace has barely taken the blade when a Drevak demon scuttles towards us. He raises Samandriel, but Alec impales the denizen of hell with a jab of his guisarme.

       “Nice weapon,” my brother comments. Our _parabatai_ doesn’t acknowledge the compliment, although _warmth_ surges in my chest. _Astonishment_ quickly replaces it, though, and I see that Alec is looking past Jace at a crumpled figure clothed in grey.

       “Is that the Inquisitor?” he asks disbelievingly. “Is she…?”

       “She’s dead,” my brother replies, expression shuttering with a wave of _grief_. My jaw drops. Alec must’ve felt the grief, though, because his jaw tightens visibly.

       “Good riddance. How'd she get it?” The blonde opens his mouth to reply, but doesn’t get a chance to say anything.

       “Alec! Jace! Jessa!” Isabelle exclaims, emerging from the sea of demons at a run. Golden chains with charms in the shape of runes are draped over her wrists and ankles, whip dancing around her. The tight dark jacket she wears is smeared with yellow blood. She skids to a stop, holding her arms out. “Jace, we thought—“

        _Regret_ dances through the bond in a jeering jig. 

       “No,” Jace says firmly, stepping away from his sister. “I’m all covered in blood, Isabelle. Don’t.” Hurt is visible on the Lightwood’s face, and her arms drop to her sides.

       “But we’ve all been looking for you—Mom and Dad, they—“ 

       “Isabelle!” Jace exclaims. Too late. A massive Kuri rears up behind Izzy, yellow poison jetting from its fangs. She screams as the poison splatters across her skin, but her whip still darts out with blinding speed to halve the demon in a spray of ichor. The two pieces of the demon thud to the deck before vanishing. I dart to Isabelle, overpowering _worry_ from Alec making me dizzy. I catch her as she slumps, whip falling to the deck. The poison had gotten her throat, but the majority of it was on her jacket, eating through the material. She whimpers, the sound barely audible. 

       “Give her to me,” Alec says urgently, dropping the guisarme in order to take out his stele. I shift her carefully, helping my _parabatai_ gently lower his sister to the deck. He looks at me with determined blue eyes. Jace’s reassuring solidity anchors me from behind. “Hold off whatever comes while I heal her.” I swallow harshly, eyeing Isabelle. There’s blood streaming down from her neck, soaking her hair and jacket.

       “She needs off the boat,” I manage to force out. “Magnus is in the truck with Jak. If we don’t get her there quick, she could die.” _Fear_ and _anger_ cloud my vision in red for a moment, before I stabilize myself and fight back against the backlash. Alec draws his stele as gently as possible across his sister’s throat, expression stony and hard. 

       “We’re all going to die,” he replies tightly. “There are way too many of them. We’re being slaughtered. The Inquisitor deserved to die for this—this is all her fault.”

       “A Scorpios demon tried to kill me,” Jace blurts, _confusion_ lancing through the bond. “The Inquisitor got in its way. Saved my life.” _Shock_ from Alec distracts him from the _worry, pain_ and _fear_ for a moment. My own jaw drops again, and I nearly drop Jehoel.

       “She did?” the ravenette asks out loud, tone mirroring his emotions. “Why?”

       “I guess she decided I was worth saving.” An iron fist closes around my throat, because Jace would always be worth saving. He didn’t think so, though, and the fact that he didn’t broke my heart.

       “But she always—“ 

       Alec breaks off, eyes trained on something over my shoulder. I surge to my feet, taking Jehoel with me. “Behind you—two of them—“

       Jace and I turn as one, blades drawn and shining with heavenly light. There’s a Ravener and a Drevak, both taller than Jace and just as ugly. I sense more than see my brother move before Samandriel is cutting through the air, slicing through the Ravener’s tail right below the poison sac at the end of its deadly stinger. It howls, and the Drevak turns in confusion—only to receive a face full of deadly demon poison.

       It barely has time to let out a final garbled scream before it crumples, head already lost to the acidic nature of the poison. Blood and poison mix, splattering to the deck in a ugly orange as the Drevak vanishes alongside the Ravener. I wrinkle my nose at the smell, using a foot to drag Samandriel over to me, kicking it to Jace.

       “Jace,” Alec calls, and I turn quickly. My _parabatai_ is standing now, a barely-conscious Isabelle leaning on him. “We need to get Isabelle out of here.”

       “Fine,” Jace replies grimly. “You get her out of here. I’m going to deal with that.” _Befuddlement_.

       “With what?”

       “With that,” my brother repeats, turning to point. Through the haze of battle, smoke and flames, I can barely make out the silhouette of something huge, hunchbacked and with more limbs than I can count. As it comes closer, I see that its head is like a mosquito’s, feet that of an elephant’s. Complete and utter _surprise_ blooms in the bond, and I hear Alec suck in a shocked breath.

       “What the hell is it?” the ravenette asks incredulously. A jittery sort of _glee_ flutters in my stomach.

       “Big,” Jace replies. “Very.”

       “Jace—“ 

       The blonde turns, looking at both his siblings. There’s _sorrow_ in my gut, and a _love_ so vast that it chokes me up.

       “Alec,” my brother says firmly. “Get Isabelle to the ladder, now, or we’ll all die.” _Regret, fear, reluctance_ and _horror_ whip by in quick succession, setting me off-balance. Alec locks eyes with me, his blue gaze steadying the world around me. His eyes dart to Jace before he nods once, pushing a vehemently-protesting Isabelle toward the nearby railing. Izzy goes down first, black hair disappearing over the side of the ship. Alec balances on the railing, waiting for his sister to go down far enough.

       But then, with a sudden, graceful move, he jumps back onto the deck. Stopping to pick up his guisarme, the Lightwood moves over to where Jace and I stand. He never gets there. The demon, faster than anticipated, suddenly swerves sharply towards Alec, the mosquito-like feeding tube whipping around as if scenting the air. Jace and I leap to defend our _parabatai_ , but the deck underneath Jace crumbles, already rotted with poison and ichor. His foot sinks to the ankle, and the blonde falls against against the deck.

       I had leapt into the air, avoiding the rotting deck, but then the demon’s feeding tube whips around, knocking me to the side. I yelp in pain, edge of a wing clipping the roof and sending me spiraling down to the ground. There’s blood from the feeding tube smeared all across my side, and I gag on the stench as I stagger to my feet, using Jehoel as a crutch. I’m too late. The demon is on top of Alec by now, and the Lightwood stabs it with his guisarme.

       It rears back with an oddly-human screech, black ichor splattering all over the place. _Pain_ flares through the bond, and I see Alec retreat, reaching for another weapon. The demon is fast, though, and its talon whips out of nowhere, knocking him to the deck. Its feeding tube extends hungrily, wrapping around the ravenette. I can hear Isabelle screaming, and _desperation_ floods me with adrenaline from Jace’s end. Left leg aching with a phantom pain, I surge forwards, Jehoel blazing in my hands, and the demon recoils with a low hiss.

        _Anticipation_ crawls over my skin—but then the demon whips its head back, flinging Alec with demonic strength. My _parabatai_ hits the deck, _pain_ flaring in the area where the demon had left the blood along my side, and then the ravenette skids across the deck and falls over the side of the ship with a final hoarse, desperate cry.

~~~~~

** JAK **

       I’m tired of waiting on the truck while other Shadowhunters are fighting on the boat. I’m not useful down here, all of the demons fighting the Nephilim on the deck of my uncle’s ship. Fuck. I feel so guilty, having been raised by the psycho himself but not having known until it was too late. I’m not even helping the Shadowhunters fight off the mess that I could’ve prevented.

       It feels like Abraxos all over again, a problem that had stared me in the eye, slapped me once or twice, but that I’d ignored. My breath is visible in the cold air, and I smile slightly. Jess and I had always loved to pretend we were dragons of some sort in the winter, with breath cold enough to freeze a human. There’s a loud roar from up top, and my throat tightens. Magnus glances back at me, cat eyes narrowed.

       “You can go, if you want,” he says. I blink in surprise.

       “How did you know?” My dad rolls his eyes.

       “I raised you for seven years,” he replies flippantly. “I should know.” I smirk, standing up and stretching. There’s still something dark that lurks on the edge of my consciousness, a little voice that whispers that **that’s not true, not really.** I ignore it. 

       I’m sorry,” I say quietly, bending down to grab Zadkiel. “I wish I could help you better, but…” I grimace, staring down at my gloved hands. Magnus rolls his eyes.

       “It’s not your fault that you tend to heat up when exposed to magic. Just go.” I throw Magnus one last grateful look before strapping Zadkiel to my back and diving into the water. It’s not very cold, but then again I’ve always had a much higher body temperature than others. It doesn’t take me long to get to the ladder hanging over the side of the ship, and I pull myself up with quick, steady moves.

       It’s a long climb up, and I have to roll out of the way of an Iblis demon almost as soon as I step foot on the deck, but I don’t let that deter me. All of a sudden, an agonized, downright inhuman, squeal penetrates the haze of battle. Shadowhunters and demons alike stop and stare. I don’t, though, just push through the crowd, searching for orange hair or amber eyes.

       But then there’s the shriek of rending metal, and the entire boat seems to groan as something gives way. Something in my stomach drops, and I know that… well, I don’t know what, but something is wrong with Jess. The battle around me has resumed, twice as ferocious and nine times as desperate.

       It’s everyone for themselves, with the occasional assist from those that can, but I simply draw Zadkiel, slicing down anything demonic in sight. Shadowhunters I duck by, praying that they don’t recognize me. The inner compass that always seems to point to Jessa is on the fritz, and my eyes skip over the crowd desperately. Because I can’t lose her, not after last year.

       She’s my anchor, the eye of the storm that’s been running rampant my entire life. I’m not paying enough attention, and when I cut an Oni out of my path I nearly fall through a massive hole in the deck. My inner compass steadies, and it’s pointing down. Down into that hole. I suck in a deep breath and sheathe Zadkiel.

       “Let’s go,” I mutter to myself. “Not like you haven’t done this before.” Is it slightly worrying that I have? Then I leap into the darkness. 

~~~~~

** JESSA **

       I hear Isabelle screaming Alec’s name, each word tearing the hole in my heart wider and wider. I’m a foot away from Jace now, whose foot is no longer stuck in the deck. The salty taste of seawater is filling my mouth, but there’s a tang to it that could be blood. I could choke on it, but there’s nothing in my mouth.

       I slam Jehoel into its sheath on my waist as the demon approaches—and almost as soon as it begins to strike, I fling my hands out, an entire deck of cards flying through the air, like a rain of heavenly fire, and slamming into the demon. The sound the demon lets out is high and agonized, and it’s the last thing I hear before the deck gives way beneath Jace and me.

       It feels like I should have seen my life flash before my eyes or something.

       That terror should’ve shot through me, made me tense up in fear. Neither of those things happen. Under normal circumstances, without a Fear rune burning a hole in my back and no psychopathic uncle, I probably would be just as at peace as I am now. Up until a few weeks ago, I was a rogue Shadowhunter. There’s no safety net for me to fall back on, and Magnus can’t save me from a drop like this. But… there is something that can.

       My wings unfurl almost as soon as the thought crosses my mind and the air they catch buffers me upwards before I manage to steady myself out enough to angle myself downwards. I can just barely make out the vague shape of Jace in the darkness. I tuck my wings in a little closer so that they’re almost closed, rocketing downwards and catching up with my cousin.

       “Hold on!” I yell. Then I grab Jace by the waist and let my wings snap out. The extra weight doesn’t do any favors to the uplift, and it’s barely enough to make us slow down even the slightest amount. But I grit my teeth and beat my wings once, willing them to work just this once—and then my feet are slamming into something metal with enough force to make my bones rattle. 

       There’s blood in my mouth, and I release Jace in order to cough and gag over the railing of what seems to be a catwalk the color of a kale smoothie. I wrinkle my nose. Valentine needs to upgrade the decor. I look up, and see a tiny, starry patch of sky up, up, up above us from where we’d fallen.

       The entire inside of the ship is painted the same smoothie green, catwalks and ladders crossing and crawling all over the place. Oh, and it’s freezing cold, especially since I’m not wearing anything but a still-damp shirt. But if that wasn’t enough, I’m shivering so much that my trembling hands make the catwalk railing shake. A soft white glow suddenly appears in my peripheral vision, and a cold hand rests on my shoulder.

       “Jessa?” Jace asks warily. “Jess, are you all right?” I nod shakily, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

       “Yeah, yeah,” I say quickly. “I’m fine.” I make to move away from the railing, but then my foot bumps against something solid. I freeze, bending down cautiously to pick it up. It’s a stele. And the imprint left behind, that all stele carry, is a familiar one. Clary held this one, and not very long ago. A soft, eerie, familiar laugh broke the silence all if the sudden. Jace and I both whirl, and I slip the stele into my pocket, drawing Jehoel in the other hand. All thoughts of cold aside, I focus solely on the future that’s standing at the other end of the catwalk, face obscured by shadows.

       “Who’s there?” Jace calls. No reply, only the fading sounds of the laugh. I see Jace reach for a seraph blade that isn’t there, but I know that he’s far from defenseless. We’re nearly out of weapons, and that’s only because I have Jehoel. Those cards that I’d used to kill the demon been my last weapons. 

       Carefully, following Jace’s lead, I inch towards the figure, Jehoel held high. My hand are steady, despite the cold, and I can feel more than see the blonde's eyes dart around our surroundings, cataloging anything that could potentially be weaponized. And then… and then the figure at the end if the walkway turns, and white-blonde hair shines in the light of the witchlight. I nearly choke as Valentine’s lips curl up into a cruel imitation of a smile.

       And then something drops down from up above, hitting the catwalk almost hard enough to unbalance me. His grin is sharp and mischievous as Jak looks up at our uncle. 

* * *

**_ A/N: Really sorry that there isn’t more of Jak’s POV in this, but I promise that there’s going to be much more of it in the following chapters. Lots of exciting things are going to be happening for Jak. ;) Thanks for reading my stories, and hope that you like them! _ **


	26. Chapter 26

** JAK **

       What I wasn’t expecting to see when I dropped down into the belly of the ship was definitely not my uncle. And I definitely wasn’t expecting for him to stop, eyes trained on me, and begin to laugh, long and hard. At some point—I’m not sure when—the laugh fades from harsh and cruel to one that I know very, very well. I hear Jessa suck in a shocked breath from behind me, but I only have eyes for the figure in front of me. It’s not Valentine anymore. It’s not my uncle. It’s _him_. Abraxos.

       “Jak?” he asks, bewilderment clear on his face, soft purple eyes shining with a warmth that my entire being begs to throw itself into. “Is that you?” The smile that had been on my face slides off, and my jaw goes slack.

       “This… can’t be real,” I breathe.

       “Jak,” I hear Jace say. “Jak, who’s that?”

       “Abraxos,” I murmur, almost dreamlike. It definitely feels like a dream. Abraxos takes a step forwards, and I stumble back, almost falling on my ass. If the landing wasn’t enough to turn my legs to jelly, this certainly was. There’s a hand on my shoulder, and Jessa pulls me back, orange hair blazing in the witchlight. 

       “You stay away from my twin, you filthy pile of faerie shit,” she hisses. I press a hand to her shoulder, using it to anchor me.

       “Aren’t you happy to see me?” Abraxos asks, small smile dancing on his lips. They’re soft. So soft. I can remember what it felt like to kiss them.

       “No,” I croak, fear burning in my gut. “No, get away!” Abraxos tilts his head, advancing another few steps towards me.

       “But I thought that you loved me,” he says. “That’s what you told me.” I shake my head furiously. 

       “I thought I loved you, but I didn’t. You tricked me, and you lied to me!”

       “Guys,” Jace says carefully. “What happened?” Abraxos’ purple eyes swivel away from me to look at my cousin-turned-brother.

       “We love each other,” he says. The gentry fae glances at me. “Don’t we?” And then he lunges forwards, claws growing out of his hands, and snatches me away from Jessa before she can react. I hear her let out an indignant scream, and my blood is pounding, terror racing through me like blood. Abraxos’ grip is tight, and he uses his free hand to force my head to the side, licking up my neck. I let out a strangled cry, eyes shut tight.

       “Be a good boy,” Abraxos hisses. “Let me take care of you.” I squirm and struggle and twist in the fae’s grasp, but nothing helps.

       “Help,” I scream. “Jessa!” Abraxos’ teeth graze the exposed skin of my neck.

       “Your twin can’t save you now,” he says. “You’re in Faerie.” And I shake my head desperately, because no, no, no, that can’t be true—and then as Abraxos’ hand moves to my hip, slipping under my jeans, I scream. It’s long and drawn-out and so high-pitched that I’m sure that it could shatter glass. The terror and horror and fear that had been building to an inferno suddenly pops like a bubble, and everything flares red and black and green.

       There’s a horrible, shrieking scream, and then all of a sudden I’m dropped to the catwalk. My hands are on fire, and I can’t stop screaming. It hurts, so much, and I can’t stand the pain. The last thing I remember is Jessa’s face hovering over mine, Orange hair falling out of her ponytail and amber eyes are filled with worry. 

~~~~~

** JESSA **

       Jak hits the catwalk, and I immediately rush forward, regardless of Jace’s warning calls. The smoking corpse of Agramon is crumbling into dust a foot or so off of Jak’s motionless body, but I ignore it in favor for my twin.

       “Jak,” I whisper, clutching his hands in mine. But something's wrong. Very wrong. The hands that I hold are smooth, save for calluses, and there’s no leather that covers the majority of the skin. My jaw drops as I look down at my twin’s hand. It’s not scarred and burnt anymore, not a mass of scar tissue and shiny skin. It looks like a normal hand, a Voyance rune on the left. 

       “Holy shit,” I hear Jace whisper, appearing at my shoulder, crouching down next to me. “What happened?”

       “I don’t know,” I reply numbly. “One second he was screaming, and the next… I don’t know what I saw, but it looked like red, green and black fire just appeared from his hands.” The blonde nods in agreement, golden eyes wide with an strong sense of _concern_ running through the bond.

       My words are stuck in my throat because of the crippling fear that’s hooked its claws in me and is dragging me down now that my Fear rune had burned itself out. Seeing Jak and Abraxos again… that was worse than anything else that Agramon could have showed me with Valentine’s face. 

       “Is he alive?” Jace asks quietly. I fumble with tingling, numb fingers and press them to my twin’s neck, willing them to feel something, anything at all. I sit back in frustration, tears forming in my eyes.

       “I can’t feel anything,” I choke out. “Fingers are… fingers are numb.”

       “Let me try,” Jace mutters, leaning forwards to press two fingers to Jak’s neck. A look of intense relief passes over his face, and he sits back. “He’s alive,” the blonde informs me. “His pulse is weak, but he’s alive.” I sob in relief, because that’s enough. Whipping Clary’s stele out of my pocket, I begin drawing Agony runes all over Jak. They fade quickly, but the more I apply the slower they fade. Finally, finally, my twin coughs as he wakes up. I press my hands to Jak’s broad shoulders, preventing him from sitting up.

       “Don’t,” I warn quietly. My twin only retches, and I quickly roll him on his side as he heaves the contents of his stomach all over the catwalk. Jace wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t say anything.

       “We’ve gotta get moving,” he says lowly. “Somebody could have heard us.” Jak nods as best as he can, rolling towards me. I back up in order to give him more room to stand, hooking one of his arms over my shoulder as he sways on unsteady feet. His weight makes me stagger for a moment, before I plant my feet firmly and push against the heavy load. Jace beckons us one way, heading for a ladder. He’s picked up a jagged piece of metal that he holds in a white knuckled grip in one hand.

       Jak looks up at the ladder dubiously, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. His skin is burning up, so hot that it almost makes me sweat in the freezing cold belly of the ship.

       “We should probably go down,” he says exhaustedly, sweat beading on his forehead. Jace nods in agreement, gripping the witchlight and the metal in one hand, descending with his other three limbs. I lower Jak onto the ladder carefully, and he slumps against it, completely tired out for a moment, but slowly begins to climb down. I follow once Jace is at the bottom of the ladder and Jak is about halfway down.

       Almost a second after my boots touch the catwalk below, I draw Jehoel with one hand, using the other to loop Jak’s arm around mine. From here, in the light of Jace’s witchlight, I can make out pipes and machinery running along the walls of the ship, making banging noise. Every so often, a pipe would release a jet of steam, even if the belly of the ship was still ice-cold. However, as Jace moves to climb down another ladder, he stops and stares at the ground.

       Half-dragging Jak, I move over to stand beside him as the blonde scrapes at a substance on the floor with a boot. It’s red, gleaming dully in the light. By the looks of it, still damp. Tacky, if only a little bit. It’s definitely fresh, then. _Expectation_ surges in the bond, _excitement_ crawling over my skin like pins and needles. Jace looks up, and I follow his gaze to a trail of blood droplets. I glance at my brother, craning my neck to see around Jak’s head.

       “It’s like a shitty fairytale,” I mutter. The blonde shrugs, stepping forwards to begin following the blood. 

~~~~~

** JAK **

       My head is fuzzy, pounding like the mother of all headaches. I can barely stand, the last few minutes looping through my head without rest. Abraxos. His smile, the way his long copper hair fell over one shoulder and one eye. The way his callused hands felt like the softest of silks. An oxymoron, I know, but his touch was always soft. Even when… 

       I shake my head as best as I can as Jessa drags me after Jace. I can just barely make out my cousin’s blonde hair through my half-lidded eyes, too exhausted to keep them open. Whatever I’d done back there, it had taken a lot out of me. My twin suddenly stops, and so does Jace. Sweat drips into my eyes, and I feel like I’m burning up. Through the sweat and haze of exhaustion, I can make out the vague shape of a door that Jace pushes open, walking ahead like he own the ship. 

       Cold wind slams into me like a sledgehammer, and I let out a small sound of content. I’m still boiling alive, though, so I make a feeble effort to take my jacket off by myself. Jessa ends up helping me, tying the jacket around her own petite waist. Blinking blearily, I take in my surroundings. It’s an empty room, save for a pipe that runs along one wall and a pile of sackcloth in the corner. I squint at the sacking for a moment, because it doesn’t look quite right…

       And then I nearly hurl what’s left in my stomach when I realize that it’s a body, not sacking. Sick squelching sounds echo around the room as Jace moves towards the body. Jessa follows him, bending down beside the pron form. I move closer to get a better look. It’s a boy, brown-haired in jeans and a shirt thoroughly soaked with blood. Jace nods to Jessa, and together they heave, flipping the kid over. I turn away to gag and retch, hands pressed against the wall.

       Because I knew that face. The boy was Simon Lewis, the dorky mundane-turned-vampire, face white as paper with his throat and wrists cut. A small hand wraps around my ankle, and I know that it’s Jessa without looking, seeking comfort when I have nothing to offer. I sink to my knees, eyes shut tight. Slowly, ever so slowly, I reach down to grip Jessa’s hand around my ankle, turning to wrap her in my arms.

       My eyes are open now, cleared of sweat as I watch Jace reach out to close Simon’s eyes. Orange hair tickles my chin, and my shoulders slump, exhaustion weighing them down even more than they already are. My cousin makes to pull up the collar of Simon’s shirt, though, the vampire moves. I blink, trying to make sure that I didn’t imagine it, and Jessa’s small, silent sobs cease as she turns around to look at the vampire. Simon gurgles once again, eyelids twitching to reveal the whites of his eyes.

       His lips have curled back, showing the points of familiar vampire fangs, and breaths rattle in his slit—no, slashed—throat. I almost throw up again, because to be in that state, somewhere between undead and dead… It’s unimaginable. Especially since he’s had his throat and wrists cut. The pain must be enough to make Simon wish he was dead. Jace moves all of a sudden, using his teeth to yank his sleeve up. I rise to stop him as he raises the metal strut, but I’m too late.

       The blonde has already slashed a deep cut down his forearm, blood gushing up like a fucking river. Jessa whimpers at the smell of our brother’s blood hanging heavily in the air, and I hug her tightly, watching as Jace holds his arm out over Simon’s face. My twin turns her head to watch through one half-closed eye.

       There’s no reaction, even with blood streaming down Jace’s wrist, spilling onto the vampire’s mouth. Jessa is shaking in my arms, but she slowly disentangles herself from me, keeping a firm hold of my ankle. There’s still no reaction from Simon. 

       “Drink my blood, idiot,” I hear Jace mutter. “Drink it.” There’s a pause, in which everybody seems to hold their breath. And then Simon’s eyes flutter shut, jaw unhinging and latching onto the blonde’s wrist. Jessa lets out a little noise of discomfort, letting go of my ankle in order to grip her arm, where Simon is drinking from Jace.

       “Okay,” my brother gasps. “Okay, enough.” I watch with a horrified sort of fascination as Simon’s eye open, the color of his irises visible and trained on Jace. His cheeks are flushed with color, almost like he has a fever, and his lips are parted, teeth stained with blood. “Simon?” Jace asks carefully. The reaction is instantaneous. With a speed almost too fast to follow, Simon lunges at Jace and pushes him over, straddling his chest. I hear the sound of my cousin’s skull bashing against the floor, and it’s only Jessa’s shaking hand on my shoulder that stops me. I turn away as Simon begins to drink from Jace to face my twin.

       “We can’t just let it happen!” I protest. Jessa just smiles sadly and taps her side where I know Jace’s _parabatai_ rune is. I growl, pacing like a caged animal. I’m beginning to feel hot and sweaty, even if I can see Jessa’s breath hanging in the air like a cloud. 

       But… where’s mine?

       A loud bang interrupts my thoughts, and I whirl around quickly to see Simon still on top of Jace, except he’s leaning back, as if horrified. Jessa stands next to the two, arms crossed and the room still ringing eight he force of the kick that she’d given the floor.

       “I could have killed you,” Simon says, horror and shock in his voice.

       “I would have let you,” Jace replies matter-of-factly. I grind my teeth that that, crossing my arms. I may not have gotten the worst of it, but I know that Jessa and Jace both think that they’re useless, expendable to everyone else. That they take that knowledge and use it to rationalize being a human shield for everyone else. They shouldn’t do that. Shouldn’t think like that. And the _parabatai_  bond must be doubling that effect from what I know about it. 

       Jessa hurries forward, helping Simon move Jace into a sitting position leaned against the wall. My twin hands him her stele, which our cousin takes gratefully. I can see the shake in Jessa’s hands, can tell that it kills her to know that every rune she could possibly draw would just hurt Jace. That every rune drawn by her hand was demonic in nature and would always seek to hurt. Jace’s hand moves slowly, tracing out an iratze. I can see everyone’s breath (not Simon’s, because Simon doesn’t need to breathe) puffing out in front of them. 

       “I’m sorry,” Simon says once more. “I’m so sorry.” Jace ignores him, staggering to his feet with a little assistance from Jessa. The healing rune must be taking effect. The look of relief on Jessa’s face confirms it, and the tightness in her shoulders loosens minisculely. Jace looks down at Simon, who’s still on his knees, staring down at his hands which are stained with blood. My cousin reaches down, dragging the vampire to his feet.

       “Don’t apologize,” he says bluntly, releasing the other boy. “Just get moving. Valentine has Clary and we haven’t got much time.”

~~~~~

** JESSA **

       Jace and Simon walk ahead of Jak and me, my twin leaning heavily on my right side. My left leg is giving me more trouble than usual, and Jak has to balance me out a few times. I swear each time this happens, because now was not s good time for this to be happening. Especially since we were on our way to confront my psycho uncle, who has one of the most powerful magical items in the Shadow World in his possession.

       I glance ahead at Simon and Jace, checking to make sure that they hadn’t drawn too far away. Jak’s skin is a heater against mine, and I bite my lip as I glance at my twin. Simon is leading us to where he remembers Valentine draining his blood, but he’s told us multiple times that it was a long way. I figure we have enough time.

       “Do you know what happened with Agramon?” I ask quietly. Jak tenses, but doesn’t show any other outward signs of his discomfort as he slides a sideways glance my way.

       “Why do you want to know?” he shoots back. I crane my neck upwards to search my twin’s eyes, looking for any sort of reproach or true reluctance. I find none, which I take as a go-ahead to keep on probing.

       “With Abraxos,” I say quietly. Jace must have heard us talking; _curiosity_ burns beside a steady flame of _fear_ and _worry_ , all tangled into one confusing yarn ball of emotions. Jak’s jaw tightens, and I slip my hand into his, squeezing it reassuringly. He takes a deep breath, letting out slowly.

       “It was so real,” he says, voice raw and uneven. “I couldn’t help but think of everything that I can remember, everything that happened. And all that terror and fear… it was overwhelming.” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I dunno if this is some shitty cliche or something, but when he tried to…” My twin swallows, Adam’s apple bulging.

       “When he tried to touch me like he did last time, it was all just… too much.” The black and silver-haired boy glances down at me. “It was like all of that rage and pain just kinda… popped. Like a balloon.” There’s a long silence, and I try to set aside Jace’s emotions, try to ignore flickers of _pain_ and _weariness_ from Alec’s end. Alec who was thrown over the side of a boat because he wanted to stay on a doomed ship to protect my brother and me. 

       “Do you know what you did to Agramon?” I finally ask, tone measured and even. Jak shakes his head. My hands tap out a nervous beat against my leg. “When you said that your emotions felt like a bubble popping,” I say carefully, “I think that might have been literal, in a sense.” Jak’s eyes narrow.

       “What do you mean by that?” My hand closes up into a fist.

       “When Abraxos—Agramon—tried to touch you again, you exploded, J.” I look my twin dead in the eye as we keep on moving, tracking Simon and Jace in my peripheral vision. “Literally.” Jak’s jaw is slack now, mismatched eyes wide. His grip on my hand is loose and floppy, and I have to tug him along with me to get him to move.

       “Define explode,” my twin finally says weakly. I grimace.

       “Uhhh… fire,” I reply awkwardly. “No smoke, but lots of fire.” Jak’s eyes are glassy, and I pinch his elbow in order to snap him out of his shock. “Hey,” I say firmly. “I need you to focus right now. Because my leg is killing me and Simon is literally leading us straight to our psychopathic uncle. You just killed the Demon of Fear, and if I know anything about shitty plot lines, it’s that that’s really important symbolism.

       You can create weird black, red and green fire. You have mismatched eyes. You have weird-ass hair. I also have weird-ass hair. I also have weird-ass eyes. I do not, however, create fire, but I do have massive wings.” I grip my twin’s hand tightly, still unused to the smooth skin in place of old, worn leather. “You’re still you,” I say firmly. “You’re still Jakson Spencer. You’re my twin. And we need to kill our psychotic uncle.” Jak lets out a startled laugh.

       “Wow,” he says. “Nice pep talk.”

       “I do what I can,” I reply with a soft laugh, releasing Jak’s hand. Up ahead, though, I spot Simon and Jace coming to a stop. My twin and I glance at each other before drawing our respective swords and hurrying forward to join them. “What’s up?” I ask quietly. Jace points down at the floor, and I follow his finger. He’s pointing at a trapdoor set in the metal of the floor. I glance at Simon.

       “We’re going through that?” I ask skeptically. The vampire shrugs. I frown at the trapdoor. “I dunno if my wings are going to be able to fit through,” I admit. Jace’s _concern_  ripples through the bond.

       “Is there any other entrance that you know of?” the blonde asks. Simon shakes his head.

       “Sorry. This is the only way that I can remember. Y’know, being in a weird limbo between life and death.” I can feel Jak tense beside me, reacting to Simon’s casual reference of almost-dying. 

       “Jace and I can go through first,” my twin says flatly, tone brooking no argument. I’m oddly proud of him. “Jessa and Simon go next. Jess needs to stay out of battle unless she’s approached, because her leg is hurting like a bitch.” His gold and silver eyes scan our small group. “Weapons?” Jace holds up his broken metal strut, covered in his blood. Simon’s brow furrows, and his fangs slot out. I grip Jehoel tightly.

       “Alright,” Jace says grimly. _Nervousness_  and _excitement_  make my heart race. 

       “Down the rabbit hole, bitches,” I mutter. Then I move aside so that Jak can slam his foot down on the trapdoor, breaking any locks that might be on the other side. Without missing a beat, he drops down, Jace following less than a second after. I salute Simon, then press my wings to my back as tightly as possible before leaping down after the others.


	27. Chapter 27

** JESSA **

       I land lightly, muscling past the pain in my left leg, and quickly scan my surroundings. Clary and Valentine face each other, but the gleaming point of a blade I assume is Maellartach is held at the redhead’s throat. Regardless of the threat of beheading, Clary’s head snaps around to look at the four of us.

       “Simon!” she exclaims. I can feel the vampire shift at my side, and I raise Jehoel, letting the light wash over everyone. I see Clary start to cry, glistening tears dripping from her eyes. **Valentine must have told her he was dead** , I realize. **Haha, bitch. He’s not.**  Valentine himself turns his head to see what the commotion is, and it’s satisfying to see him look well and truly shell shocked. I grin wickedly as he swings around completely, Soul Sword coming away from Clary’s throat.

       I watch my cousin sink to her knees, entire body trembling uncontrollably. I’m not sure if it’s just the angelic light of my seraph blade, but I think that her fingers are much whiter than normal when she brings them up to swipe away the tears on her face. I glance at Jak up ahead, and our eyes meet. I raise an eyebrow. He frowns. 

       “What did you do to her?” Jace demands.

       “Nothing,” Valentine says flippantly, regaining composure. But it’s too late; we’d already seen him surprised. That meant that this intimidating act wasn’t as effective as it would be otherwise. “Yet,” my evil uncle adds. Jace pales. “I’m the one who should be asking what you’ve done, Jonathan,” Valentine continues. He’s speaking to my brother, but his cold eyes are fixed upon Simon. “Why is it still alive? Revenant can regenerate, but not with such little blood in them.” 

       “You mean me?” Simon demands from my side. “Oh, that’s right, you left me for dead. Well, dead-er.” The corner of my mouth twitches up into s half smile, but I shift my weight to my right leg and readjust my grip on Jehoel. 

       “Shut up,” Jace says, worry and fear swimming through the bond. “Let me answer this.” My brother turns back to my uncle, golden eyes steely. “I let Simon drink my blood,” he declares. “So he wouldn’t die.” I don’t know if it’s even possible for Valentine’s face to get stormier, but it somehow does, settling into hard lines that make it look like his bones are attempting to escape. 

       “You willingly let a vampire drink your blood?” he asks calmly. _Nervousness_ flickers for a moment, and Jace’s blonde head turns towards Simon and me ever-so-slightly before returning to face Valentine. _Hatred_ bubbles up in my stomach, a fiery potion that licks at the walls of my gut.

       “Yes,” Jace says, carefully albeit firmly.

       “You have no idea what you’ve done, Jonathan,” Valentine announces in a dramatic, grave voice. “No idea.”

       “I saved a life,” Jace replies, _defiance_ rippling over me like a wave. “One you tried to take. I know that much.” 

       “Not a human life,” Valentine corrects, coal-black eyes glinting with hate. “You resurrected a monster that will only kill to feed again. His kind are always hungry—“ 

       “I’m hungry right now,” Simon interrupts, smiling to reveal his fangs. They practically glow I the light of Jehoel. “I wouldn’t mind a little more blood. Of course, your kid would probably choke me, you poisonous piece of—“ 

       Valentine simply laughs.

       “I’d like to see you try it, revenant,” he taunts. “When the Soul Sword cuts you, you will burn as you die.” I step forwards, doing my best to hide my limp, coming to a stop when I’m pressed against Jak.

       “The Sword isn’t turned,” Clary suddenly blurts out. “Not quite. He didn’t get Maia’s blood, so he didn’t finish the ceremony—“ 

       She’s cut off when her father turns almost faster than the eye can see, and with a quick flick of the Mortal Sword, the redhead goes flying, rolling across the floor until she slams against the bulkhead nearby. Simon runs towards her at full speed, but Jak has freed one hand and uses it to yank the vampire back, just as our uncle produces a blazing wall of fire.

~~~~~

** JAK **

       The flames flickering in front of my eyes seem to draw me in, inviting me into their embrace. Jessa’s hand around my wrist is the only thing that anchors me. There’s something churning in my gut, a caged creature begging to be set free and run wild. It wants to play with the flames, dance among the fiery tongues. A quiet yelp from Jessa makes me glance over, and my eyes widen. Wisps of smoke curl up into the air from a small green, red and black flames at the tips of my fingers. I quickly clench my hand into a fist as the fire recedes in the corner of my eye. It doesn’t sting where the flame meets skin, it’s only warm and comforting.

       “If you kill the revenant now, you can still undo what you’ve done,” I hear Valentine proclaim. My hands are shaking so much that I almost drop Zadkiel, but muscle memory from years of practicing with burnt hands takes over. I don’t drop my dao, tip held up and steady even if I don’t feel that way. “No,l, Jace whispers beside me. Jess is a strong presence at my right, Simon on her other side, 

       “Just take the weapon you hold in your hand and drive it through his heart,” Valentine coaxes. “One simple motion. Nothing you haven’t done before.” I can feel my jaw clench, the heat of my emotions making my hands heat. I grit my teeth.

       “I saw Agramon,” the blonde suddenly announces. “It wasn’t for very long, but it had your face.”

       “You met with Agramon?” Valentine asks, moving towards us. “And you all lived?”

       “Jak killed it,” Jace says. Valentine’s black eyes flicker over to me, and the moment I see those eyes I’m struck with how much they looked like mom’s—at least, from what I can remember of the pictures. 

       “Well, well, well,” Valentine says. “I see that you manifested your abilities as well, Jakson.” I suck in a shocked breath, head swimming and a sick feeling coming over me. There’s nothing left in my stomach, but I still feel like I need to hurl.

       “You knew?” I ask. I curse myself for the tremor in my voice, the weakness that Valentine is guaranteed to see and use.

       “Of course I did,” the older Shadowhunter replies, grin sharlike in nature as he continues to advance. “You’re almost exactly as I had intended you to be.” Jessa lets out a choked kind of sound as Valentine returns his attention to a shell-shocked Jace. “Your cousin,” the platinum blonde says coldly, “can kill the Demon of Fear, but you won’t kill a single vampire, not even at my order?” Jace’s face is blank and expressionless, nothing getting through his impenetrable mask.

       “He’s a vampire, that’s true,” the blonde acknowledges. “But his name is Simon.” Valentine is close, so close that could almost reach out and touch him. Flame flickers on my fingers, but I dig them into my palm as Valentine comes to a stop right in front of Jace, a Soul Sword gleaming with black light.

       “I take it, then, that you haven’t changed your mind?” my uncle asks my brother. “What you told me when you came to me before, that was your final word, or do you regret having disobeyed me?” The entire room seems to fall still, and then Jace shakes his head. Movement at the bottom of my sight has me glancing down quickly. I have to smother a grin. Because Jace’s eyes may be glued to Valentine’s and vice versa, but my brother's hand is moving to pull a stele out of his belt—the stele that Jessa gave to him and never asked after once Jace had enough blood running through his veins.

       “Yes,” the blonde says. “I regret having disobeyed you.” I never thought that I’d live to see the day, but Valentine’s face actually softens for a brief second.

       “Jonathan—“ 

       “Especially since I plan to do it again,” Jace adds. “Right now.” Almost faster than I can keep track of, Jace’s hand leaves his side, stele flying through the air. Light from both Jehoel and Zadkiel reflects off it, making it some sort of bizarre disco ball. And then it clatters to the floor, within arms reach of Clary, the girl who could create runes. But Valentine doesn’t know that yet. And so he starts to laugh.

       “A stele?” he asks between laughs. “Jace, is this some sort of joke? Or have you finally lost your mind? What is a stele going to do against the Soul Sword? It’s like trying to take on a man with a longsword with a toothpick!” Valentine is beginning to sober, and I can just barely see Clary reaching for the stele. There’s not enough time. So, I decide to do something so monumentally stupid that I’ll probably get my ass kicked for this later. 

       Now or never, though. 

~~~~~

**JESSA**

       “I’m gay,” Jak suddenly announces. Valentine actually stops and stares in shock, black eyes wide with surprise. Repressed _laughter_ , _astonishment_ and _confusion_ pulse through the bond steadily. I can see Clary beginning to draw, stele moving slowly over the wall.

       “You,” Valentine repeats. “Gay.” Jak nods, but I can tell that it’s robotic, forced and unnatural.

       “Yup. My last breakup didn’t go so well, but I thought that I’d tell you before you killed one of my friends.” I’m mildly impressed by the fact that Valentine’s grip on the Mortal Sword hasn’t even loosened; in fact, his knuckles are white around the hilt, and his face is slowly turning purple.

       “Y-y-you—“ 

       “Do you need me to spell it out for you?” Jak asks innocently, Zadkiel still raised defensively. “G-A-Y. Homosexual. Attracted to other men. Rainbows, glitter and all that shit.” Valentine’s jaw is attempting to meet the floor, and I’m almost convinced that it’s going to work—but then his eyes dart to Simon, who’s watching Clary over his shoulder. My uncle whirls around, all thoughts about Jak’s announcement gone. 

       On the farthest wall of the room is a rune, swirling and intricate and like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Simon glances at Jace.

       “What does it say?”

       “It says mene mene tekel upharsin,” my uncle murmurs. Clary staggers to her feet, stele clutched in one hand.

       “That’s not what it says,” she whispers. “It says open.”

       “Clary—“ 

       The scream of metal drowns out all of my uncle’s words, and I wince as I cover my ear, careful to avoid stabbing myself with Jehoel. The wall the rune Clary had drawn on begins to warp, as if manipulated by an invisible force. Rivets tear free of their housings one by one, and jets of water spray into the room. I slam Jehoel into its sheath, snagging Jak’s band in my own as nails, screws and rivets tear themselves out of their places. A hole is opening in the wall, water rushing through like  a waterfall. I’m already up to my knees in it. And then a wave washes through the gaping hole in the side of the ship—and Jak’s not there when I resurface. 

       “Jak!” I scream, struggling to keep my head above water as the water heaves. Another wave forces me down, and my wings are deadweight on my back. I struggle to the surface. “Jak!” I scream again, terror rising in my throat—my own, for once. “Jak!” Am arm wraps around my chest from behind, and I scream, thrashing against the firm hold.

       “Jessa!” I hear a familiar voice yell. “Jess, it’s me!” I stop struggling quite as hard when I realize it’s Jace, but I still can’t see Jak. 

       “Jak,” I pant, wriggling free of my brother’s grip in order to face him. “Where’s Jak?” Jace’s _helplessness_ echoes through the bond, and I can’t breathe all of a sudden. Because I hadn’t lost Jak when he’d faced down the Demon of Fear, only to lose him to a stupid wave.

       “We have to go,” Jace says, tilting his head to stay above water. “The rest of this could come down on us any second now.” I taste salt, and know that it isn’t the water that I’m swimming in. Jace’s hands locks onto my wrist, though, and he drags me along as he swims out through the hole in the side of the boat that Clary has created. 

~~~~~

** JAK **

       It’s cold. I can’t remember the last time I was cold. Or maybe…

       I was four. It was winter, and dad had left four hours ago. He’d turned off the thermostat. Jessa and I had no blankets. So we huddled together in the dark, burrowing into each other for warmth. I gave all my warmth to Jessa so that she could sleep. There was none left for me. 

       This is like that time. Except Jessa isn’t here, and I’m drowning in the Hudson River. My eyes are closed against the salt, and water is filling my lungs. It’s so cold. I can’t get over that. And that flickering flame that I’d been feeling ever since Agramon is sputtering, about to go out. There’s nothing to keep me alive anymore. I would laugh, but my body refuses. I don’t know why it’s prolonging my suffering. I inhale, water invading my lungs greedily. I’m cold inside and out, choking on water.

       I hope Jessa will be alright. Jace is with her. She should be fine.

       Something brushes up against me, and I’m mildly worried when it takes a fair amount of effort to lift my eyelids. A merman looks back at me, all delicate features, chiseled muscles and grace. He looks at me, and I wonder why he’s wasting his time. Probably going to take my body somewhere after I’m dead. I feel lightheaded, and I can barely even taste the Hudson anymore.

       My eyes begin to slide closed once again, but a sharp sting has them shooting open, mouth opening in surprise—and then something wet and slimy is shoved into my mouth. I don’t even see the merman leave, just feel the flick of his tail against my leg. The thing in my mouth is slimy, but there’s no taste and it’s warm. Very warm, a welcome difference to the frigid cold all around me.

       And then that heat seems to grow, to travel from the thing in my mouth to my tongue, where it spreads through my mouth, then my head, then course all over my body. And I’m warm again. But it doesn’t stop there. I keep getting hotter, and the water around me begins to bubble. My temperature has never been this high, and I feel sweaty even though I’m underwater.

       I try to open my mouth to scream, but I only manage to swallow the slimy thing in my mouth. I gag on it, inhaling more water—but there’s no more water in my lungs, and the water that makes it into my mouth dissolves almost instantly. But the rise isn’t stopping, and I just keep getting hotter, up to the point where I feel like I’m going to burn up—and then everything goes black.


	28. Chapter 28

       Jace and I are helped aboard Luke’s truck by Simon and Luke. Magnus is nowhere to be seen. I fasten a lid on the pure, unadulterated terror that blooms in my chest at that. That I don’t know where my dad is. The water is gray with ash, and the scent of smoke and blood taints the air. I can’t talk. Can’t move. Can’t think. There’s something missing, inside.

       Something that would have been there. Jak. But he’s gone now. So I sit in the corner of the bed of the truck and look out into the distance blankly as Jace explains what happened in a hushed whisper. I close my eyes to block out the hubbub of Clary waking up. 

       Clary Fray. Always the one who gets the attention. I can’t help but feel like screaming, shouting at somebody, anybody, that there’s a part of me missing and that I need to be fixed. My chest aches, a phantom pain from one end of the _parabatai_ bond. My left leg is stiff, and I can’t help but think about how, if Jak were here, he could warm it up and I’d feel better. I breathe in. Breathe out. Try not to cry.

       My grip on Jehoel is tight, so tight that my knuckles are white and my hands are shaking. I look up when a shadow falls over me. It’s Luke, looking down at me sympathetically.

       “He’s not really gone, you know,” the werewolf says. I shake my head, wet orange hair sticking to my forehead.

       “There’s this hole in my heart,” I mutter. “In my thoughts. It’s not something that can be filled.” I breathe out a long, heavy breath. “And the worst part is, I’m so cold. He was warm, and I always loved to steal his warmth.” I shake my head slowly. “Not anymore,” I mumble. I glance up at Luke. “If you’re here to tell me that none of this was Clary’s fault, you can save your breath.

       It is her fault. But I get it, I guess. It’s what I would’ve done.” I shrug. Luke doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, looking at me with something unidentifiable in his eyes. Then he crouches down beside me, turning so that he can sit.

       “I don’t really know what to tell you,” the werewolf admits. “But I do know that Jak would be happy that you’re alive.” I make to shrug again, but as I do, something lights up in my chest. I gasp, bending forwards. My wings flare, fanning out on either side. Luke has to duck. The heat in my chest is growing, like a flame that you keep on feeding wood. But, even as it grows larger, I feel safe. Because I recognize that warmth.

       Somewhere far below us, the riverbed rumbles. And then the water glows green for a moment—before it explodes, a searing wave of heat hitting me at full force, nearly catching my wings. I manage to fold them in time, though, curling up against the back of the truck bed and shielding my face. When the heat stops slamming into me, I take my arms away from my face tentatively. What I see makes my jaw drop in shock. Where the water had exploded, there’s a perfect circle of clear blue water, free of ash and debris.

       And in the center of it is a body.

       I don’t heed the warning calls of the others, just leap over the side of the truck and beat my wings to get me moving. Once I am, I shoot through the air like a rocket, intent on reaching my target. A few yards off of the body, I let myself plummet, landing in the river with a splash. Grunting with the effort and cursing myself for not folding them midair, I drag my wings through the water and press them to my back. I’m sopping wet once again, but ignore the feeling of intense cold as I swim the rest of the way to the body.

       I nearly stop swimming when I reach him. It’s Jak. His eyes are closed, but despite the cold water his cheeks are flushed with color. I can feel heat emanating from his whole body without touching him. I feel like I cant breathe, that this is all just a dream. And if this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.

       “Jessa!” I hear Simon call from behind me. I tread water as I turn around, searching through the dark for the vampire. There’s a movement in my peripheral vision, though, and I whip around to face it as fast as I can in the water. It’s a merman, with long, glossy blue hair, delicate cheekbones and deep blue eyes. I can see a shimmering green tail moving in the water.  **Faerie** , my mind tells me.

       I swim backwards until I bump into Jak’s body. Vaguely, I wonder how my twin is floating—because he isn’t as light as a feather, I can guarantee that. But mostly I’m berating myself for leaving Jehoel on the floor of the truck bed. The merman doesn’t make any move to attack me, though, just raises his hands to show that they’re empty. I narrow my eyes, back still touching Jak’s limp arm.

       “I mean no harm,” the merman says. “I only wish to give you much-needed advice.” I scowl, glaring at the faerie. “Would you prefer to exchange information on your territory?” he asks, tilting his head. His shimmery blue hair falls in front of his face when he does, and the faerie looks like a curious dog. I don’t laugh, though, just nod shortly. I tense up when the merman raises a hand, but relax when he only beckons.

       “Come. I know where your friends are, and I can take your twin with me.” This is a bad idea. This is one colossal train wreck of a bad idea. But I can’t sign anything because I’m in the water, and the only way to communicate is by talking. Well… why not? I’ve already yelled at the Inquisitor, announced my darkest secret to the entirety of the Seelie Court and connected with four people within a week, trusted them enough to talk freely. I open my mouth, then close it. My limbs are getting tired, cold eating through my shirt and pants. I breathe in deeply.

       “He stays in my sight,” I finally choke out curtly. The merman’s blue eyes widen fractionally before returning to normal.

       “As you wish,” he says with a graceful nod. Then he turns, and with a flick of a green scaly tail, he’s off. Behind me, Jak’s unconscious body moves, and I hurry to keep up. I stop when my twin’s body stops, a few feet away from Luke’s truck. Jace and Simon are already leaning over the edge, hands outstretched. When Jace sees Jak, though, his golden eyes dim. I shake my head furiously.

       “He’s not dead,” I blurt out, pushing Jak ahead of me and clinging to a wheel that’s resting on top of the river. Jace and Simon both heave, bringing my twin’s body on board. “But there’s something else,” I add, accepting Luke’s hand. The werewolf grunts as he lifts me into the truck bed.

       “And that is?” The sound of something breaking the surface of the water makes everyone lurch to the side that the noise came from, making the truck tip dangerously. I swear, gesturing impatiently for Clary and Simon to back away to the other side, where Simon and Jace had laid Jak. Jace, Luke and I, however, peer over the side of the truck.

       My own gaze meets the merman’s, and I set my jaw. Using one hand, I gesture mockingly. Go on, it says. The merman rolls his eyes, and I raise an eyebrow. A faerie with a sense of humor. Now that was something that I never thought I’d see. 

       “My name is Earendil,” the merman says, drawing closer to the truck. “Your twin, Jak, has something that no Seelie, in all our long lives, have ever seen in a mortal vessel.”

       “And that is?” Jace demands.

       “An inner fire, so bright and hot that it is akin to that of a demon’s,” Earendil replies simply. Luke draws in a sharp breath, but all I get from my cousin is _confusion_ , mirroring my own perfectly.

       “Which means what?” the blonde asks for both of us. The merman sighs impatiently.

       “You’ve heard of mortals with the ability to summon fire at will, correct?” the faerie asks. Jace and I both nod. “That’s essentially what Jak will be able to do.” Earendil’s eyes darken. “Be warned: his fire is not that of the angelic kind. His is the fire of Edom, that which burns the color of blood.”

       “That must have been what happened with Agramon,” Jace mutters thoughtfully. He looks down at Earendil. “Jessa and I saw him do it, on Valentine’s ship. To kill the Demon of Fear. But it wasn’t just red, it was black and green too. What does that mean?” The faerie looks surprised.

       “That’s impossible,” he says.

       “Well, it seemed pretty possible when it burnt Agramon to a crisp,” Jace says sharply. Earendil’s blue brow furrows.

       “His inner flame,” the merman says, just loud enough for me to hear. “It must be unbalanced, possibly broken.”

       “Earlier you said that these weird fire powers are things that Jak ‘will be able to do’,” Luke cuts in. “What did you mean by that?” I’m surprised at how calmly he’s taking this. Then again, my black wings are soaked and dripping all over his truck bed, and my orange hair is plastered to my neck.

       “Like all skills, the power to summon the flames of a demon must be practiced before one can achieve greatness,” Earendil replies with surprising patience. I bite my lip. 

       “What happened out there?” I ask quietly. The _shock_ that reverberates through the _parabatai_ bond nearly knocks me off my feet. Earendil wrinkles his nose.

       “An unfortunate side-effect of feeding him the fireweed,” he says.

       “That better not be a Seelie drug,” I mutter. “Angel knows we’ve had enough of those for a lifetime.” The merman’s expression darkens.

       “Trust me, I mean no harm to your kin,” he says. “What was once done will never happen again, as does the Queen of the Seelie Court and King of the Unseelie Court decree. Our revelries shall never sink that low again.” Luke and Jace both raise an eyebrow, but I ignore them in favor of staring down the merman. 

       “What did the fireweed do?” I ask flatly.

       “The cold of the river and the river itself began to dampen his inner flame,” Earendil explains. “Merfolk use minuscule amounts of fireweed to light small fires underwater. I used an entire strand to reignite your twin.”

       “That’s some powerful weed,” Jace mutters jokingly. I glare.

       “Any other side-effects?” I ask. Earendil shakes his head.

       “None that I know of.” He tilts his head. “My Queen calls me back. But I have a feeling I will be seeing you all once again,” the merman says. With a final, flippant wave, the faerie dives back underwater. 

       I close my eyes, stumbling back from the edge of the truck bed. All the adrenaline from seeing Jak’s body out on the water is gone, and all I can feel is tired. I can feel Jace and Alec’s _weariness_ through the bond as well, which doesn’t make me any more alert. A hand is placed on my back, but it’s an unfamiliar one.

       “Maybe you should sit down,” Simon says. I’m too tired to protest, letting the vampire lower me to the ground. The floor of the truck bed begins to vibrate underneath me, which I take to mean that Luke has started the engine. I open my eyes, letting my head rest against Simon’s shoulder. It doesn’t matter that I’ve only known him for a few weeks. All of us had just faced down an army of demons and Valentine together. I think that lets some of the walls come down.

       “This is so weird,” Simon comments as the truck begins to move. “I keep expecting the ruck to start sinking.” I snort.

       “I can’t believe you just went trough what we went through and you think this is weird,” Jace replies. I don’t feel any malice, though, or annoyance, so I just smile wearily. 

       “What will happen to the Lightwoods?” Clary asks. “After everything that’s happened—the Clave—“ 

       “The Clave works in mysterious ways,” my brother explains. “I don’t know what they’ll do. They’ll, be very interested in you, though. And in what you can do.” In the minimal lighting, I can just barely see Jace’s expression darken. “Malik saw Jessa’s wings. Before he died, he probably told somebody else. And now that that’s in the open, everybody’s going to be interested in her. Jak too, because I don’t think anybody can just ignore that massive wave of flame that he made.” All of a sudden, Simon makes a strange noise that has me lifting my head up to look at him. His unnaturally pale skin has an unhealthy green pallor to it, I realize. 

       “What’s wrong, Simon?” Clary asks.

       “It’s the river,” the vampire replies. “Running water isn’t good for vampires. It’s pure, and—we’re not.”

       “The East River’s hardly pure,” Clary says jokingly. She still reaches out to touch Simon’s arm from where she’s sitting on the other side of the vampire. He smiles at her. “Didn’t you fall into the water when the ship came apart?”

       “No,” the vampire replies, shaking his head. “There was a piece of metal floating in the water and Jace tossed me onto it. I stayed out of the river.” I can barely see the grateful look that Clary throws my brother.

       “Thank you,” she says. “Do you think…” _Curiosity_ bubbles up, and I adjust my position wearily so that I’m not pressing down on Simon too much.

       “Do I think what?” I hear Jace ask.

       “That Valentine might have drowned?” 

       “Never believe the bad guy is dead until you see a body,” Simon says. “That just leads to unhappiness and surprise ambushes.” I let out a startled laugh, which quickly devolves into a genuine one. I haven’t laughed like this in ages, and it’s weird to be doing it as I sit in the bed of a truck that’s driving across the East River, which is filled with the ashes of my pschotic uncle’s ship. 

       “You’re not wrong,” Jace says when I sober, clutching my stomach. “My guess is he isn’t dead. Otherwise we would have found theMortal Instruments.” My mood darkens once again once those accursed angelic objects are mentioned. It seems like everything is either about the Mortal Instruments or Clary these days.

       Two weeks ago, I would’ve been more worried about accidentally decapitating someone at Pandemonium in a fit of extreme annoyance. But now… I don’t even know. I reach out for Jak’s limp hand, gripping it tightly. My palm gets sweaty quickly, the heat from my twin quickly warming me up.

       “Can the Clave go on without them?” Clary asks. “Whether Valentine’s alive or not?”

       “The Clave always goes on,” Jace replies confidently. “That’s all it knows how to do.” I watch him turn, gaze directed eastward. “The sun’s coming up.” _Shock_ shoots through me when Jace realizes what he just said, followed by such an intense _worry_ that I have to shake myself in order to snap into motion. Releasing Jak’s hand, I sit forward on my knees. There’s a bloody stain at the eastern horizon, a disc of molten gold rising amongst the red.

       “No,” I hear Clary whisper. I see Jace stand quickly, jittery energy burning in my chest, and watch as my brother makes his way to the open truck cab. He speaks in a low voice, and I don’t bother straining my ears to listen. The truck lurches forward, and I have to press my palms to the cold metal of the truck bed in order to stabilize myself. Jace is shouting now, worry mounting and nearing a point where neither of us would be able to keep it locked up.

       “There must be something,” Clary says desperately. “We could cover you, maybe, with our clothes—“ 

       “A pile of rags won’t work,” Simon says, almost trance-like. His eyes are still fixed on the rising sun. “Raphael explained—it takes walls to protect us from sunlight. It’ll burn through cloth.”

       “But there must be something—“

       “Clary,” the brunette interrupts, holding his hands out. “Come here.” I back off slowly, retreating to where Jak is still lying comatose. Sinking to my knees beside my twin, I heave out a shuddery breath.

       “I’m sorry, Jak,” I mutter. “I know we’ve only known him for a couple weeks, but… I wish we had time to say goodbye.” There’s a shout from Jace, and my head snaps up to look at the sky. It’s rose-colored, and as I watch golden beams of sun burst through the rose. Where they make contact it’s the water, it gleams. My gaze darts around wildly, before finally fixing upon Simon. Simon, whose head is thrown back as black lines run across his skin like a broken vase. 

       “Simon!” Clary screams. She reaches for the vampire as I rise to my feet, but Jace quickly comes up behind her, looping his arms through hers and restraining her.

       “Clary, look,” he’s saying. “Look. Clary, look. Clary, look.” I look. And suck in a sharp breath of astonishment. Simon is standing in the back of the truck in a patch of golden sun, mouth gaping and staring down at himself disbelievingly. The sun makes his hair glow, the color of molten chocolate, and my stomach rumbles. There’s a thud. 

       “Whizzit so hot?” Jak slurs out blearily.


	29. Epilogue

** JESSA **

       By the time I drag myself into Magnus’ loft, leaning against Jak and the both of us swaying like a pair of drunks, I feel like I could fall asleep for a million years. My back aches where my wings meet the area right beside my shoulder blades. The hilt of Jehoel digs into my stomach, and the tip of Zadkiel is poking me in the back. My feet feel like they’re going to fall off, and I’d kill for a cup of coffee right about now. 

       Without even looking at my twin, I tumble onto the couch with him. It’s a tangle of limbs and weapons for a few moments, and we both nearly kick each other in the face in the process of taking our boots off. Eventually, though, once Zadkiel and Jehoel lay on the floor beside the couch, we’re comfortable. Magnus had texted earlier to tell us that he’d be coming back later with Alec, so for the moment Jak and I just lie on the couch in a boneless heap. 

       But of course, iratzes (or Agony runes, in my case) don’t take care of everything. It doesn’t take me much time for the rest of the aches and pains throughout my body to make themselves known. Jak groans, obviously feeling like shit. I turn my head in order to bury it into the pillow that my head rests on, letting out an exhausted groan. 

       I splutter a moment after, spitting out orange hair. I really need to get it cut. Sweeping the rest of my hair out of my face, I faceplant into the pillow once again. 

       “Do you want to shower first?” Jak finally asks wearily. I flap my hand aimlessly, gesturing vaguely for my twin to go ahead and shower first. The weight of his feet on my stomach disappears, and I hear him pad away. Shifting carefully so that I’m stretched out on my side, I stretch my wings as best as I can in this position.

       I can practically hear them creak and groan in protest, and there’s a sharp pain that comes from the right one. Folding them against my back once again, I settle down to listen to the sound of water running as Jak gets ready to shower. The familiar rhythm soothes me, and my eyelids droop, fighting to stay open. 

       Eventually, I just give up. Jace and Alec’s pressing _exhaustion_  aid me on my way to la la land. 

** JAK **

       That night, Jessa, Magnus, Alec and I all get together and binge the Office. Alec sits at one end of the couch, pressed up next to Magnus. I’m stretched out over the majority of the couch, head in Jessa’s lap and feet in Magnus’. Jessa’s legs are on either side of me, and I’m using her thigh as a headrest. She’d complained about my bony-ass chin for a few minutes, but we’d settled down eventually.

       When I’d come out from my shower, my twin had been passed out on the couch, orange hair getting everywhere. I’d let her sleep until Magnus and Alec arrived, at which point I’d shaken her awake and steered her to the bathroom. Because, let’s be honest here: we all stink. Demon hygiene isn’t the best, and the blood and grime we’d picked up during the battle wasn’t helping in the least. 

       As of now, every bone in my body aches, and I’m still very, very tired. Good news is that I’ve cooled down by about a hundred degrees, so I don’t have to worry about heat stroke anymore. Bad news is that my ‘demon fire’, as Jessa is insisting on calling it, is still unpredictable. A few minutes before, I’d accidentally torched dinner. Jessa had simply stared for a few moments before calling Magnus for takeout.

       I feel like it should be more awkward for everyone. That we shouldn’t be this accustomed to finding ways around weird powers and crazy occurrences. But I guess when you’re living with the High Warlock of Brooklyn, things like this seem commonplace. The only difference is that this is happening to me. This is happening to Jessa. To the both of us. And we’ve got no idea how to handle this.

       And sometime in the future, the Clave is going to catch on. The day that happens is the day that the real fight begins. But for now, I prop my chin up in my twin’s thigh and chuckle quietly. For a moment, everything seems like normal. Like Clary Fray hadn’t barged into our lives like a tornado.

       But then the door slams open, prompting everyone to tumble off the couch and into fighting positions on instinct. We all freeze when we realize who it is.

       “You!” I exclaim, jabbing a finger at the blue-haired merman who’d shoved that weird fireweed into my mouth. Even without a tail, that blue hair is unmistakeable.

       “You,” Jessa growls quietly, Jehoel in hand. I could’ve sworn that it wasn’t even in the room a second ago. 

       “Him?” Magnus asks, blue magic sparking at his fingertips.

       “Who?” Alec asks suspiciously, hands raised defensively.

       “Me,” the merman says dryly.

       “What are you doing here?” Magnus demands. The faerie smiles.

       “The Seelie Queen has assigned me a task.” His gaze falls on me, the weight of it heavy and dangerous. “M’lady commands that the firebird be taken care of.”

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger. (Not really ;)). Don’t worry, I’m not finished with this series. We’ve still got four books to go, and then I’m planning on something special ;). Thank you to whoever’s been reading my books. It’s amazing to know that people like my writing enough to wait for updates. Next book is going to be called _Broken Glass_ , and there’s a lot of exciting things in store for everyone. **


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